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THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 



“The wide world is ahead of us, little brother — ” 



THE 

TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


A BRAVE COWARD 


TWO MOTHERS 


BY 

Rev. EDWARD F. MURPHY 
ILLUSTRATED BY 

JOHN F. BURROUGH 


O’DONOVAN BROTHERS 


Publishers 


221 Park Avenue, Baltimore, Maryland 






Copyright 1921 
O’Donovan Brothers 


58ftNSFERR£D FfiOfc 
fcOPYKKSHT OFFICE 



MAR -7 ’22 \ 


Tt is a truth beyond our ken — 

And yet a truth that all may read: 

It is with roses as with men, 

The sweetest hearts are those that bleed. 

The flower that Bethlehem saw bloom 
Out of a heart all full of grace, 

Gave never forth its full perfume 
Until the cross became its vase. 


— Ryan. 


Dedicated to 


MOTHER-LOVE and to YOUTH 


on which it is lavished 


CONTENTS 


Introductory Poem \ 4 

The Tale of Two Brothers 

Chapter Page 

I.- — Into the World 9 

II. — The Accident 14 

III. — A Race with Death 23 

IV. — The Crisis Passed 30 

V. — What Became of Joe 39 

VI. — Sunshine and Shadow 58 

VII. — In the City 67 

VIII. — Fred and Louis Find their Vocation 76 

IX. — Joe’s First Morning in Boston 84 

X. — The Flight of Years 95 

XI. — In the Shadows 105 

XII. — Concerning Fred 109 

XIII. — In the Park 116 

XIV. — A Memorable Monday 126 

XV. — The Temptation 137 

XVI. — Clayton Begins 147 

XVII— The Climax 151 

XVIII— A Capture 159 

XIX. — The Meeting 169 

XX. — Conclusion 178 

The Brave Coward Pp. 187-198 

Two Mothers Pp. 199-210 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


The Wide World is Ahead of Us Frontispiece 

He Could Feel Himself Sinking 21 

The Lady Could See Them and Was Glad 31 

Suddenly His Blood Ran Cold 41 

“Please, Sir, I’m — I’m Hungry” 49 

Then Down From the Skies His Mother’s Spirit 55 

'A Very Soft and Tender Throat 87 

Joe Spent His Time Rooting at the Ball Game 97 

He Felt Her Soft Arms Encircle Him 119 

Out of the Many Faces He Was Passing 143 

“Enter Your New Home” 163 

With Straining Eyes, He Read His Mother’s Name... 173 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


9 


THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


CHAPTER I. 


Into The World. 

“What is a mother’s love? 

A noble, pure and tender flame 
Enkindled from above.” 

ND they are going to take me away from you, 



Fred?” 

The small boy’s eyes were wide-open and bright. 
His lashes flickered. He was trying to hold back the 
tears, like a little man ; but they stubbornly oozed out 
of the corners of his eyes, sparkled, and rolled down 
over the plump, pink cheeks. He was only six years 


old. 


Fred’s face hardened with resolve. His fist clenched. 

“Don’t cry, Joe,” bade he, “but run and put on your 
coat and hat. I won’t let them part us. You’re com- 
ing with me !” 

The youngster dashed his sleeve across his eyes at 
this, and revealed a countenance as bright as a star 
that is suddenly released from a cloud. 

“Honest, Fred?” he asked with eagerness and joy. 

“Yes. Those good folks who want to put you in 
Saint Joseph’s Orphanage mean all right, but they are 
not reckoning on how you and I feel about it. Mother 
wouldn’t want me to give you up, Joe, and I certainly 


10 


THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


don’t want to either! I have a strong pair of arms, 
and there must be plenty of work that people are will- 
ing to pay for. I guess I can look out for you all 
right. Get your: things.” 

As the little fellow skipped off into the entry with a 
glad cry, Fred stepped over to the kitchen-window. 
Raising the green shade, he let in a rosy flood of 
late afternoon sunshine. He was noble-looking, stand- 
ing there in the glow of parting day. Like the day, 
his old life was gliding away ; the night of uncertainty, 
difficulty and trial, was at hand. But the hopes and 
ambitions of youth would sprinkle the sky of any night 
with stars, to lead him on, on. He was not afraid. He 
was restless with a desire to begin his great journey 
into the land of wonders and secrets — the Future. 

His gaze wandered out the window, on which win- 
ter’s chilly breath was tracing tiny trees and flowers in 
frost; then, wistfully down the open, snow-covered 
road which trailed off from the house. His lips 
twitched, as he looked. The Catholic cemetery, Saint 
Mary’s, with its chaste, cold monuments of marble, 
and its humble crosses of wood, was not far away. He 
could see the new-made grave ; it was not yet a day old. 
It was his best friend’s — his mother’s. His eyes 
blurred with hot mist. 

A little hand crawled up his sleeve, and the touch 
drew his mind from his own sad thoughts. ‘‘I’m 
ready, Fred; isn’t it time to get started?” asked Joe. 

Fred said nothing, but hastened into his mother’s 
chamber, and took a small silver crucifix from the bed- 
post, where it hung on a black silken cord. It had 


GOD IS LOVE 1 


ii 


been her dearest possession. He kissed it fervently 
and placed it in his vest-pocket near a heart throbbing 
with a resolution faithfully to cherish all her teach- 
ings. 

“Now we’re off, Joe,” he smiled, putting on his coat 
and hat, and tucking a single bundle under his arm. 
“The wide world is ahead of us, little brother — there 
must be a spot for you and me in such a big place, and 
mother’s spirit will be with us.” 

He opened the door. A swirl of icy wind, with a 
snarl, tore into the room, as if warning them not to 
venture forth. Joe shuddered. Fred stooped and 
carefully drew up the collar of the child’s overcoat 
about his; neck, and charged him to keep his hands in 
his pockets. It would be a bad night, and they had 
far to go to get to Crawford, the nearest town. 

Slipping his arm over Joe’s shoulder, he closed the 
door of the little house which, before the dark visit of 
death, had been home. Without a glance backward — 
it would have been too painful ! — they proceeded 
down the snowy path, in the direction of the cemetery. 

Arriving at the mound beneath which lay sleeping 
one of the gentlest and most loving mothers, the boys 
reverently doffed their caps and knelt. The grave was 
already covered with a cold veil, silvery white as the 
garments in which painters gloriously represent the 
angels. It seemed to Fred as though spirits had dropped 
from the skies a shining mantle for his mother to 
wear when she should appear in the royal courts of 
heaven, there to stand before the Great White Throne. 

How long the boys knelt, with bowed heads, by the 


12 


THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


snowy mound which contained their treasure, they 
never knew. Time meant nothing to them, as they 
prayed for their loved one. Fred thought he heard 
her say : “Be brave, dear boy ! The world is a snare. 
Let your motto be the holy advice which Jesus gave : 
‘Watch and pray.’ Then you will never fall in 
temptation. Never fail in your duty to little Joe. 
Guard him from boyhood to manhood, lead him toward 
Heaven. You have always been a good son to me, 
my Fred ; I am sure you will always be a good servant 
of God.” 

A kiss seemed to brush across his cheek, soft and 
tender as the mother’s unfailing good-night caress. 

“She is gone,” sobbed the child, as if awakening 
from a beautiful dream. “Didn’t you feel her just 
now, Fred?” 

“Yes, Joe, but now I feel only the wind — and it is 
cold!” 

They raised their eyes. Night was around them, 
and the sky trembled with stars. The monuments 
looked like sheeted ghosts; the leafless trees, like 
gnarled, black demons. The winds shrieked, moaned, 
thrust fingers of ice into the boys’ thin clothing, and 
then laughed loud and hollow at the pitiless joke. 

“It must be late, Joe,” said Fred, his teeth chatter- 
ing. He was just realizing how badly chilled he was, 
and appreciating how uncomfortable his brother must 
be. “We stayed quite a long time. We’ll have to 
hurry, if we are to get to town to-night. Let’s walk 
fast, to keep warm.” 

“Good-bye, mother,” he murmured, pressing his 


‘‘GOD IS LOVE 1 


13 


lips to the grave. “I will remember all you have 
taught and told me/’ 

“Good-bye, Dearest,” said Joe, stretching his little 
arms across the mound and pressing his childish cheek 
to the upper part of it at the point beneath which were 
a pair of cold, closed lips that had never emitted a 
harsh word and were now softened in the eternal 
silence. Joe always called her “Dearest,” because it 
was the name his papa ever used in addressing her. 
It was one of the first words to enter his baby ears. 

Hand in hand, the orphans rose and dragged them- 
selves away. Down the snow-crusted, glimmering 
road they went, into the world of action, out on the 
journey of Life. 


THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


CHAPTER II. 

The Accident. 

E LECTRIC cars ran between the village and the 
town. 

Fred would have hopped on one of them, were 
he alone. But having Joe, whom the few Catholics 
in the place had insisted on sending to the Orphanage, 
he was afraid to be seen. They would not let him 
take the boy away. They did not think that Fred 
could provide for himself, let alone the young brother. 
They considered it pure humanity to place the child 
where he would be sure of proper care. But as 
Fred had said, the good people did not reckon on 
certain personal feelings in the matter. They did 
not know how closely knit were the souls of the 
brothers. Mrs. Carlton, the mother, had trained her 
children to live in truest harmony and sympathy. 
This excellent concern had fostered the most perfect 
affection. For Fred to lose Joe — well, it would have 
been as bad as to tear off his right arm, and worse. 
And Joe would rather have parted with his young 
life than with Fred. Ever since the youngster was 
old enough to walk, he had been Fred’s companion. 
They slept together, woke together, laughed to- 
gether. Fred was captain of the boys’ club in the 
village; and, of course, Joe had to be mascot. One 
never felt just right, without the other alongside him. 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


i5 


The Carltons had lived in the village for only a 
year. Mr. Carlton brought the little family there 
from Boston, where he once held a fair position in 
a banking-house. But indoor-work and close appli- 
cation to the interests of his employers ruined his 
health. His lungs became badly affected; so he re- 
signed his city situation and sought the more health- 
ful surroundings of the country, trusting to be on 
his feet again in a few months. The hope was vain. 
Eight weeks after his arrival in the village, he kissed 
his wife and little Joe fare-well, and then solemnly 
shook Fred’s hand, saying, “You must step up into 
your father’s place, my boy; you must be a man be- 
fore your time. I leave your mother and brother to 
you.” 

With that, he fell back on his pillow, answering 
the Master’s call with a heart-ache, but also with a 
smile. 

Mrs. Carlton bore the loss with Christian fortitude. 
Not a word of complaint escaped her lips; but the 
lines on her forehead deepened as the days went by. 
The veins in her frail hands were bluer. She 
faded away, during the months of autumn, like a 
flower; and when winter began its mad reign in the 
village, the neighbors came to lay her to rest in the 
same grave with her husband. 

She had made few acquaintances and no friends, 
having been too busy attending to her husband during 
his illness, and trying to conquer her grief after his 
death. And the fact that not one of the villagers 
was intimate with the family accounted for the 
further fact that no one offered to give the boys a 


i6 


THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


home. The fellows with whom Fred chummed, walked 
to the funeral, wearing their dark suits; all of them 
had more than a suspicion of wetness in their eyes 
as the burial service was read ; and all of them shook 
their captain’s hand or patted him on the back with 
sincere feeling. But the grown-up folk did not know 
Fred, as his comrades did. If so, several might have 
been eager to throw open the doors of their homes 
to him. As it was, they all seemed to think that he 
should now try to do something for himself, and 
that Joe should be handed over to more competent 
care. 

Fred seconded the first part of the opinion; as 
for the remainder, regarding little Joe, however, per- 
haps his head favored it, but his heart certainly cried 
out against it. He wanted his brother, wanted him 
more than anything else in the whole world! The 
boy was all that was left him, besides three dollars 
and sixty-five cents in his coat-pocket. And Joe was 
worth more than a million — a billion for that matter ! 
To still possess this human treasure, Fred would have 
to steal it, or rather snatch it away from the big ap- 
proaching hand of charity. 

The distance between, the village and the town, even 
by trolley, was considerable ; but the rounda-bout route 
which Fred was choosing, more than doubled 
it. He knew it was imprudent to make the journey 
on foot in such a bitter night ; but he dreaded to re- 
turn to that empty little house, so full of memories; 
and he feared that the neighbors would come at any 
moment to take Joe from him. He could, perhaps, 
reach Crawford by midnight; and he felt sure that 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


1 7 


Father Hurley, a kind clergyman, with a sunny smile, 
and a Tipperary twinkle in his mild eye, would give 
him and Joe a night’s lodging. The priest had at- 
tended Mrs. Carlton in her last illness, and told Fred 
to come to him if he ever needed a friend. The 
boy never needed a friend more than tonight, with 
a mother lost to him forever and a beloved brother 
in danger of being torn from his side. He felt sure 
of understanding and welcome in the town that lay 
miles beyond. 

The boys trudged on in silence. The clear, cold 
sky, at which Fred kept gazing, half -expecting his 
mother’s sweet face to appear among the silver blos- 
soms of stars and smile upon him, seemed like the 
inside of an immense china bowl set up-side-down 
upon a vast out-spread carpet of pure velvet. 

The full moon flooded the night with white light, 
but the winds, still sweeping across the crisp ex- 
panse of snow, hurled clouds of freezing powder in 
the air, stung the boys’ faces, and spread a chill all 
over their bodies. 

They were now well out of the village. They could 
barely see the lights of the cottages on the outskirts 
shedding their ruby glow on the snow. 

“Fred, Joe’s tired,” complained the little fellow, 
at last finding it impossible to conceal his discom- 
fort, “and awful cold. Are we almost there?” 

For answer, Fred picked him up and held him 
tightly to his breast. “I’ll carry you, Joe,” he encour- 
aged, “until you feel able to walk again. We’ll get 
to town somehow. They are not going to separate 


18 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 

us, old man, are they? We are going to be brave, 
brave as soldiers — and — and we’ll fight it out to- 
gether.” 

“You bet ” agreed Joe, digging his cold little nose 
into Fred’s warm neck and cuddling closer. 

But the older brother spoke with more cheerful- 
ness than he felt. Though his heart beat fast with 
a fierce determination to keep and protect the boy, 
his hands were numb with cold — he had no mittens 
nor gloves — and Joe was no feather-weight parcel 
either. The road was deserted and lonely, and Craw- 
ford was very far away. Still he plodded on, silently 
praying for strength to reach Father Hurley, who 
would give them a bed for the night and, the follow- 
ing morning, would show them the way to the city, 
where work could be found so easily and money so 
plentifully earned. With his very first dollars, he’d 
buy Joe a good heavy over-coat, then perhaps a sled. 
Of course he would send him to school, and then to 
college ; — in short he would make a great man out of 
that little brother of his, a great good man ! He 
would lead him to Heaven! Mother would be proud 
of her Joe. 

Such thoughts served to make Fred forget his 
hands and feet for another while. Joe had fallen 
asleep. Fred did not have the heart to wake him 
and tell him that he was unable to carry him further 
and that he would have to walk. He still pushed 
on, bearing the slumbering burden, though his arms 
were breaking, and “pins and needles” were pricking 
his limbs and ears. He stumbled a few times. Spots 


“GOD IS LOVE 1 


i9 


began to float before his eyes. To go another inch 
was painful, but to stand still was perilous. The winds 
screamed. 

What was that, not far in the distance — dark and 
crouching? Fred drew together all his little remain- 
ing energy and struggled forward. He just barely 
reached it. Yes, it was what he had hoped, — a small 
deserted barn, in a bad state of decay, but good enough 
for a brief shelter. There was a little straw in one 
corner. He deposited Joe, still fast asleep, on this 
crude bed. Searching around, he found a tattered 
old horse-blanket hanging on a peg in the wall. Seiz- 
ing the coarse cloth, he wrapped up the child snugly 
in it. 

By now his head was reeling. His exertions had 
been too much for him. He sat down on the floor 
beside Joe and put his frost-bitten fingers into his 
vest to warm them. They came in contact with his 
mother’s silver cross. He removed it from the pocket 
and held it in the moonlight which beamed through 
the single frosted window. It glinted brightly. He 
bent over the dear little brother and fastened it by 
the black silk cord around his neck. He could watch 
both the sacred object and the slumbering child until 
sleep should close his own eyes. He was very drowsy 
now. His hands, feet and ears had absolutely ceased 
to pain. He had never felt more comfortable in his 
life. His troubles were over for the night — he and 
Joe could go on to Crawford in the morning. They 
were far enough away from the village to be safe 
for the present. All he now had to do was to sleep — 


20 


THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 




and dream. His heavy eyelids came together. He 
could feel himself drifting, drifting, delightfully . . . 
when suddenly a warning stirred somewhere in the 
back part of his brain., He must not sleep ! He must 
move — move. He had no coverings, and he was numb 
all over. He was freezing. 

By a supreme effort, he got on his feet and tottered 
to the door of the barn. To his agreeable surprise, 
there to the south twinkled the pale electric lights of 
Crawford, only about half a mile away. If he could 
but reach them! That barn was the poorest kind of 
shelter at best. The air swept through every side 
of it. He felt it would be dangerous to linger there 
for the night. But how could he get to Crawford and 
safety ? 

A faint chug chug down the road seemed to bring 
an answer. The sound grew. A cone of yellow light 
shot into the blue of the night and rapidly came 
nearer. It was a motor-car speeding toward the town. 

Fred’s heart gave a bound. He staggered out of 
the barn and onto the road. He would hail the auto, 
and its occupant would no doubt consent to take him 
and Joe into Crawford. 

But just as he reached the middle of the path his 
dizziness mastered him. He fought against it with 
all his poor might. In vain. Outraged nature was 
having its due. The car was only ten feet away. He 
could feel himself sinking. Then all became a throb- 
bing darkness. Noises surged into his ears — a man’s 
voice, a woman’s shriek, a horrible grinding. Silence 
blended with the blackness. 



He could feel himself sinking, 

























, « 















“GOD IS LOVE” 


23 


CHAPTER III. 

A Race With Death. 

HE car snorted to a stop in the road. It was a 



1 fine, sleek Toursedan model. But that made no 
difference to Fred, lying unconscious under the wheels. 

There was only one occupant besides the chauffeur : 
a beautiful woman in a rich fur coat and hat. She 
pressed to the sparkling window of the car, an expres- 
sion of horror vivid on her lovely features, wringing 
her hands. 

“How could you have been so careless, James?” 
she cried. 

“Your pardon, Madame,” the chauffeur rather 
sharply replied, “but who in the world would expect 
anyone to be standing right in the middle of this road, 
at this time of night? It was the feller’s fault, who- 
ever he is, — not mine.” 

“Less talk, please, and more action,” she sternly 
requested, with a flash of the eye. “Out, I say! Re- 
lease the poor fellow from under the wheels.” 

It was only the work of three minutes to draw Fred 
from his unfortunate position. 

“A mere boy!” exclaimed the lady, as the moon- 
light revealed the dead-white countenance. A dark 
thread of blood trickled down the side of the fore- 
head and became thicker every minute. The woman 
bit her lip and shook. Tears sprang to her eyes. 


24 


THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


“He must be alone in the world and homeless, else 
he would not have been roaming about, on such a 
bitter night,” she rapidly reasoned. “There are no 
farm houses around here to which I could take him; 
besides, he may need prompt surgical attendance.” 

“James,” she said aloud and excitedly, “lift him 
carefully, quickly into the car — between the seats — 
and wrap the mink robe all around him. He looks 
frozen. Hurry. Drive to Crawford as fast as you 
can. No, no, I don’t mean Crawford. Doctor Camp- 
bell is an excellent surgeon. He lives in Alden, five 
miles further on. I know him personally. Take us 
there. You know the way — we have been to him be- 
fore. Hurry, hurry !” 

Fred was speedily put into the warm, perfumed 
car. The lady gracefully dropped on her knees be- 
side him, chafing his cold forehead with one silken 
hand, and stroking the color to his pallid cheek with 
the other. 

The chauffeur was back in his seat. He threw in the 
clutch, and the car’s nickel-plated snout again darted 
into the night. 

While Fred was thus being borne away as fast as 
a powerful motor could possibly take him, little Joe, 
quite unconscious of the cruel trick that destiny was 
playing him, slumbered peacefully — the silver cross 
on his breast and a happy smile on his lips. The 
hoarse bell in the tower of Crawford’s town-hall 
struck the hour of “One!” The winds died down. 
All was calm and peaceful. A new day was beginning. 

“Hurry, hurry!” urged the lady to her chauffeur. 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


25 


“The lad’s condition seems very serious. We must 
reach Doctor Campbell’s in time! Oh! why doesn’t 
he open his eyes — and his lips? The mouth is so blue 
— awful! My God, dear God, have we killed him? 
No, no — not that ! In Heaven’s name, James, hurry !” 

The chauffeur hunched over the wheel. His jaws 
gritted. The car shot like a great silver-tipped 
arrow over the glistening white road. The tires scarce- 
ly seemed to touch the ground. It was a race with 
death. 

From her embroidered bag, flung into one of the 
cushions, the lady’s trembling fingers drew out a 
pearl rosary. She passionately kissed the gold cross 
and, bending over the boy’s prostrate body, she prayed 
as never before. 

Between the decades, she begged Heaven’s Queen 
to look with pity and bestow aid on the unconscious, 
bleeding youth. “Grant me this favor, dear mother 
of Jesus,” she pleaded, with tears, “and I promise 
to care for this poor lad all the rest of my life. Hear 
me, Mary! — you who have never been besought in 
vain.” 

But Heaven, to test our patience, often delays its 
response to our prayers, or permits obstacles which 
seem to prevent them from being granted at all. James, 
the chauffeur, in his eagerness to satisfy his mistress, 
was far exceeding the speed limit. Just ahead, near 
a tree in the road, his straining eyes detected an await- 
ing man whose blue-coat and motor-cycle proclaimed 
him a guardian of public safety. James had no in- 
tention of being delayed even by the law at such a 


26 


THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


time; so he swiftly swerved the car to the right and 
out of the police-man’s direction. The auto, however, 
was going too fast for such a movement. It skidded 
on the hard, slippery snow. The left rear-wheel 
wobbled. The car sank in one corner, dragged crazily 
along a little way, pitched forward, settled back, and 
sat in the road with a panting gr-r-r-r. 

The three occupants experienced a good shaking. 
The blood on Fred’s forehead spouted more freely 
from the wound. “Mary, Mother, — dear Savior!” 
was all that the woman could murmur, as she threw 
open her coat and tore off a piece of her white silk 
ball-dress, to wipe away the fearful red flow. Her 
filmy little lace handkerchief was useless. 

The officer rode up on his motor-cycle to the dis- 
abled car and had a conversation with the chauffeur, 
which consumed five precious minutes. Twenty more 
were then devoured by the work of adjusting the 
wheel. The lady’s face was as white and drawn as 
that of the unconscious boy, by the time the car again 
rolled off, into the night. 

At last they reached Dr. Campbell’s house. It was 
an impressive structure, with granite columns all 
along the front porch and a huge brass knocker on 
the door — an example of those up-to-date mansions 
which copy the architecture of George Washington’s 
day. The grandeur indicated the kind of person who 
dwelt within the grey confines. 

The doctor was one of the most skilled, exclusive, 
and expensive scalpel-artists in Massachusetts. 

Quite naturally, this gentleman took his time in 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


27 


coming downstairs to the anxious woman and the 
injured boy, whom James had carried in from the 
machine. Indeed, when his little Japanese servant, 
Toko, woke him up to say that his presence and ser- 
vices were desired below, the indignant personage 
sat up in bed and made ready to shoot a generous blow 
into the little yellow man’s withered face. He had 
given express orders not to be roused that night, for 
he had been, out late at a banquet the evening before. 
But Toko swiftly eluded his master’s fist, and thrust 
a neat card under his nose. Doctor Campbell beheld 
the name — “Rosa Pastorinni” — elegantly engraved. 
“Oh, that’s different !” he grunted. “I couldn’t afford 
to offend her. All right, Toko, tell her I’ll be down 
shortly.” 

The Doctor had a silly weakness toward the other 
sex. He was accustomed to being lionized by the 
ladies, who considered him a prize “catch,” and really 
thought more of his colonial mansion and fat bank- 
account than himself. But he flattered himself that 
it was his appearance which captivated them. He 
never went before a female unless faultlessly groomed. 
Madame Pastorinni, in spite of her anxieties, would 
have had to smile, if she could now see him at his 
mirror, preparing himself for her. He carefully 
combed the few thin hairs on his bullet-shaped head, 
into the position which they had been quite too weak 
for years to leave. He squeezed into a broadcloth 
pinch-back evening-coat, which made him look like a 
grasshopper ; too, he had selected a high collar, which 
gave him something of the appearance of a giraffe. It 


28 


THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


took him exactly one hour to render himself thus elab- 
orately ridiculous. 

Then he picked his steps down the princely, red- 
velveted stairway. 

By this time, the chauffeur and his mistress were 
too impatient for words. The former, seated at one 
end of the room, kept opening and closing his hands, 
teething his lips, and tapping the floor with his shoe. 
He’d have to go to jail if that boy died! The lady 
had thrown aside her coat, and was fiercely pacing 
up and down the room. She was angry at herself 
for having bothered about the skilled, fashionable and 
expensive Doctor Campbell. She might have known 
he was as slow as a snail. 

Fred lay like a marble statue on the couch where 
James had placed him. The golden light which 
dropped down from the cluster of fancy electric bulbs, 
blossoming out of the ceiling like magical flowers, fell 
directly on the pitifully wan face. The blood had 
hardened around the wound into a great scarlet circle. 

The velvet portieres parted and the great man at 
last stood revealed. The woman made a dash to- 
ward him and seized his two hands. “If you were 
a minute longer,” she cried, “I think I’d have gone 
mad. Doctor, please attend to this poor boy with all 
speed and care. Money is no object. Make him 
live!” 

As a surgeon, there certainly was nothing silly about 
Doctor Campbell. Working on a patient, he would 
forget all about women and the world. One glance 
at Fred showed him that his best skill was going to 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


29 


be put to the test. With that realization, Rosa 
Pastorinni and her chauffeur passed out of his mind 
completely. So did the room. He saw only a boy 
over whom the cold angel of death was bending with 
slowly descending fingers. He did not think to call 
even Toko to his assistance; though, later, he was 
obliged to summon the trained nurse who always lived 
at his beck in the mansion. 

Quick as a lightning flash, he secured a supply of 
ice from the kitchen refrigerator, blankets from the 
closet, and surgical instruments from his cabinet. His 
nimble fingers had Fred stripped in a jiffy. 

Then began the process of rubbing the ice into the 
boy's frozen flesh. It lasted a long time, but was 
successful. The Doctor grunted in satisfaction as 
the bluishness ofl the skin gave way to a healthy pink 
tinge. “Now, I can look after his real injuries,” he 
mumbled to himself. 

Madame Pastorinni had betaken herself to the ad- 
joining room and fallen into an arm chair by the 
window. Her hands were clasped tight on her lap. 
Her face was haggard with fear, but there was still 
a gleam of hope in her great dark eyes. Her lips 
kept moving in prayer. James hovered about the 
Doctor, who paid not the least attention to him. 

And, as the night wore away to dawn, the fight 
for our young friend's life went on, with religion as 
the woman’s weapon, and science as the man’s. 


30 


THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


CHAPTER IV. 


The Crisis Passed. 


“Morn, in the white wake of the morning star, 

Came furrowing all the orient with gold.” 

ONG bars of brilliant purple and gold were stretch- 



l. ing across the darkness of the east. Through 
the silken draperies adorning the large French win- 
dow, the lady could see them and was glad. The 
light in her eye grew brighter. It is not so hard to 
be hopeful when the shades of night are lifting and 
“rosy-fingered dawn opes wide the doors of day.” 

Doctor Campbell appeared in the door-way of the 
sick-room. He looked exhausted, but an expression 
of triumph danced on his face. He uttered only 
one sentence. It was all the woman wanted to hear — 
“He will live !” 

An exclamation of relief and joy escaped her. She 
was across the room in an instant, grasping the sur- 
geon’s arm. “Let me see him,” she eagerly requested. 

He led her to the couch. Fred’s appearance, how- 
ever, was not very promising. True, the cold, blue 
hue wa§ gone from his face and his eye-lashes were 
stirring. There was a dash of color in his lips. But — 

“His recovery will be very slow,” Doctor Campbell 
stated. “You see, the left side of his head is badly 
injured. There was a clot of blood on the brain. 
One of the ribs and a bone in the fore-arm were 



The lady could see them and was glad 




“GOD IS LOVE : 


33 


broken. He needs the best of care for several weeks 
to come.” 

“And he shall have it !” 

“How did the accident happen, my dear Madame?” 

“I was returning from a concert over at Westbrook. 
The Westons’ affair, you know. I sang there, open- 
ing and closing the program. Well, we were finished 
so late that I told James to drive me home fast. He 
obeyed only too well. We ran over this young lad 
on a lonely road.” 

“Hasn’t he any relatives?” 

“I hardly think so; else why should he have been 
so exposed at such an, hour of night?” 

“I’ll search his clothes. We may learn something 
from articles in the pockets.” 

But there were no objects in poor Fred’s clothing 
beyond a handkerchief, a rosary, a prayer-book, a 
jack-knife, three dollars and sixty-five cents, and a 
picture of a sweet-faced woman with silvery hair — 
his mother. 

“Too bad,” commented the Doctor, stroking his chin. 
“Because the boy won’t be able to tell us anything 
about himself for several days. His mind will be 
affected. But, as you say, he must be poor and home- 
less, so that it really doesn’t matter whether we know 
much or little about him. Nobody cares about that 
kind.” 

The man’s remark cut into Madame’s generous, sen- 
sitive spirit, and made her wince. 

“I don’t like to hear you say that,” she protested. 
“Somebody does care for this boy ! I promised Heaven 


34 


THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


that I would cherish him, if his life were spared. It 
is spared, and I’m going to keep my promise to the 
letter. I want him removed to my home, Doctor. 
I’ll have a private nurse for him until he is better. 
Then, if it proves that he has no relatives, I shall 
have him continue to live under my roof ; and, in 
any event, he will find me a life-long friend. Til 
do my best to advance him in the world, if he permits 
me l” 

“What grand — mysteriously grand! — souls you ar- 
tistes have!” murmured the man sincerely. He did 
not relish her reproof, but he could not help admiring 
her charity. Another woman would have rushed the 
boy to a hospital, written out a check, scolded the 
chauffeur, and then forgotten all about the matter. 
But Madame was not like other women. The Doctor 
always believed she was more beautiful in body than 
they; he was now realizing that she was fairer in 
soul. 

Fred’s lips parted. The lady knelt beside him and 
held her ear close to catch the feeble word — “Mother.” 
Her heart beat fast with pity. “Alone — lonely — 
motherless !” she breathed. “But if you want me 
and let me, poor lad, I’ll be a mother to you and 
do all in my power to drive loneliness out of your 
life.” She imprinted a kiss on Fred’s forehead. 

“Lucky laddie!” the Doctor exclaimed to himself. 
“Hundreds of men would consider it a fine privilege 
to be run down by Madame’s machine and get this 
reward. You surely struck luck, youngster, when 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


35 


that car struck you ! Fortune has hit you pretty hard, 
but only to land you in heaven.” 

The Doctor was forty-five years old, if he was a 
day. He had studied very hard during his boyhood, 
youth and young manhood; and so, in climbing high, 
he had missed the usual larks of the best time of 
life. He had money now, bushels of it, deposited in 
the best banks of the country, or carefully and profit- 
ably invested. He could buy about anything he wanted, 
except what he 'wanted most — the right kind of wife. 
Of all the women of his acquaintance, Madame Pas- 
torinni suited him best, but apparently she was the 
least smitten with him. She was too bright and lofty 
a star for even the great surgeon, to aspire after. But 
a cat can look at a king and an infant can long for 
the moon. Doctor Campbell wasn’t discouraged. 

He saw in Fred a possible means of winning 
Madame’s favor. She was aflame with sympathy 
for the boy; by exercising some sympathy himself, 
he might secure her favor and esteem. He really 
cared nothing for our young friend; in fact, he posi- 
tively disliked him for being the object of so much 
of Madame’s attention. Such petty sentiments are 
very often present in geniuses; for no one ever be- 
comes big enough to discard all littleness, and charac- 
ter is often as lop-sided as the leaning tower of Pisa. 

“Anything, however, to please and impress Ma- 
dame,” he told himself. “If she’s going to be a 
mother to the boy, I’ll try to be a — humph! — father. 
That will bring her and myself very often together, 
and there’s nothing like a mutual interest to make 


36 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


two parties forget what they are mutually interested 
about and — er — remember each other.” 

“Dear Madame,” he spoke solemnly, touching her 
on the shoulder, “I am very sorry for the thought- 
less remark I just made, about the world not caring 
for such as these.” He pointed to Fred. “It was a 
rash and wrong assertion. There is truly much char- 
ity in humanity. Your own good heart is fresh and 
full with mercy’s sweet and beautiful blossoms; mine 
too — may I admit it ? — is not a stranger to them. 
There are two sides to men like me — the professional 
and the human. The former is cold and hard ; but 
the latter is warm and tender. Believe me, Madame, 
when I say that I share your interest in this poor 
boy. I want to aid you in helping him. May I ?” 

A slight expression of distrust came to the lady’s 
eyes, but it was gone in a twinkle. She thought highly 
of Doctor Campbell for his medical and surgical 
knowledge, but had not liked him in other respects. 
He had seemed too worldly-minded. His last words, 
however, would argue that her judgment was too se- 
vere. A smile of pleasure curved her lips, revealing 
her pearly teeth. 

“I thank you, Doctor,” she said. “Yes, I should 
be pleased to have you assist the boy. He doubtless is 
badly in need of more friends than one. Besides, you 
have saved his life, and are therefore more entitled to 
befriend him than I am; I, who was almost the cause 
of his losing it. Whatever you do for him, I shall 
deem a personal favor to myself.” 

“You are so kind, Madame,” he sighed, taking her 


“GOD IS LOVE’’ 


37 


hand and kissing it. “I’ll kill the youngster with 
kindness to please her,” he promised himself, “and, 
when she gets to think I’m an angel in disguise, I’ll 
propose to her. When I’m sure of her, I’ll treat the 
fellow differently, quite differently. It’s an irksome 
job — trying to appear to have a softness which you 
know you never did, can, nor will possess. But it will 
have been worth the trouble, if I succeed in capturing 
the most celebrated prima donna in the country. She 
has a wealth of beauty and — property. I couldn’t do 
better.” He twisted his little dyed-black moustache 
and beamed on Madame. 

“Why remove him to your home, my dear lady?” 
he asked. “It might be dangerous for him. Let him 
stay here where he will be under my constant care. 
You can see him whenever you wish — a half hour’s 
drive will bring you from your home to his side.” 
He was playing his cards well. 

“Your suggestion is good, Doctor,” she approved. 
“I’ll let him stay here, and come to see him every 
morning and afternoon. But just as soon as he re- 
covers, I want him in my own home. Though plainly 
poor, he looks like a good and intelligent boy. Per- 
haps I could make a companion of him for my Louis.” 

The latter was Madame’s only child. She was a 
widow, but, having married very young, her husband’s 
death had left her at the height of her charm. She 
looked much too girlish to be the mother of a boy 
of fifteen. But she never tried to diminish her years, 
and everywhere was known as the most devoted of 
parents. It was her great love for her own boy that 


38 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


largely inspired her concern and interest in this 
stranger. She could not help visioning Louis in the 
same plight, and trembling at the picture. 

Fred’s lips again moved. Madame bent low, but 
the words were so faint and disconnected that she 
could not make out their meaning. “He seems to 
be talking of ‘Joe’ and a ‘barn’,” said she to the Doctor, 
who was standing behind her. 

“Oh, he’ll ramble along for a couple of weeks,” as- 
sured the man lightly. He was getting a little im- 
patient at her for continuing to bother so much about 
the boy. He wanted some of her attention for him- 
self. “It is useless to give any heed to his words, 
because we can’t make any sense out of them, and 
they mean nothing anyhow. The brain behind them 
is sick and clouded.” 

“You are right. Doctor.” 

And in this way, the possibility of finding little 
Joe and re-uniting him to his brother became very 
dim. Here was Fred, tied down by injuries, but 
with a golden future before him. There was Joe, 
alone, unprotected; — but we shall learn all about him 
as our story unfolds. 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


39 


CHAPTER V. 


What Became of Joe. 


HE morning sun shone through the window of 



1 the barn directly on Joe’s face. His head stirred 
and then his eyes blinked open. He rubbed them with 
the backs of his hands, sat up, and looked around for 
his brother. He saw nothing but the four ruined walls 
and a hay-loft full of holes. 

Shaking off the blanket, he jumped to his feet and 
called his brother’s name once, twice, thrice. Each 
time the note of fear increased in the childish voice, 
for each time there was no answer. 

He gazed helplessly all around again, down and up. 
Suddenly his blood ran cold. There, at one of the big 
rifts in the floor of the hay-loft, gazing down at him 
with horrible, red-rimmed eyes, was the fat, blotchy 
face of a man. 

“Say, kid, there ain’t anything the matter with your 
lungs at all,” came the husky voice belonging to the 
face. “You’re some healthy baby boy, all right-o. 
But / ain’t Fred, so I’d just as soon you’d close your 
yap and let me return to sweet repose. How did you 
get in here anyhow, kiddo? This is my own private 


hotel.” 


“I — I don’t know how I got here, unless Fred 
brought me when I fell asleep last night.” As the 
child’s voice tried to explain, it shook badly. “Fred’s 


40 


THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


my big brother, and I want him. Have you got him 
up there ?” 

And Joe’s fear promptly fell from him at the sud- 
den suspicion that the ugly man had taken his Fred. 
His small fist doubled, and a sparkle came to his blue 
eye. Anger took the place of timidity. “You let him 
come down here to me — you just let him come!” he 
cried, stamping his foot. “I don’t like you and I want 
my big brother! I want him! You can’t keep him 
up there — you just can’t. Fred, Fred!” 

“Shut up, kid, or I’ll go down there and wring your 
noisy neck !” 

“I won’t shut up till you give me my brother. Fred, 
Fred !” 

“All right-o, kiddo ; you’re fishing around for a good 
spanking, and papa simply has to go down and give 
it to you.” The bloated face disappeared from the 
opening, and the rafters of the loft began to creak. 

Joe did not move an inch, but kept calling “Fred!” 
at the top of his voice. A thick heavy body of a man, 
in a tattered suit, appeared at the head of the steep 
and rickety ladder that dropped from the loft. He 
started to descend ; but it was no easy matter, for 
several of the rungs were missing. Two steps down, 
however, were all that he had to take; because, when 
about to make the third, he miscalculated the distance 
between rungs, landed on air, and crashed to the 
floor. 

“Drat you, youngster, for making me fall!” he 
bellowed, picking himself up with difficulty. “I’ll 
‘Fred’ you!” 



Suddenly his blood ran cold. Then, at one of the big 
rifts in the floor of the hay-loft, was the fat, blotchy 
face of a man. 





“GOD IS LOVE” 


43 


Joe drew his little form proudly erect and regarded 
the tramp with scorn. 

“I don’t care what you do to me,” he declared, “but 
give me back my brother.” 

The hobo wobbled over to the boy and struck him 
a brutal blow on the face. The child turned white, 
but uttered no cry. Another cuff from the big, coarse 
fist, and he sank to the floor without a sound. After 
administering a few savage kicks, the miserable man 
was satisfied — and sorry. 

“Well, I guess I was a mite too rough,” he told 
himself, as he looked at the child’s innocent, little up- 
turned face. He’s a pretty kid — smart, too. That 
brother of his — ‘Fred’ — must have fetched him to this 
here barn and then ‘beat it.’ Didn’t want to support 
the youngster, I suppose. Nice little kid!” 

He stooped and brushed the golden hair from Joe’s 
forehead with a very thick and dirty finger. “I — I 
wonder if I can’t use him to kind of make a living 
for myself. Anyone would fall for an angel-faced kid 
like that. I bet he could separate even a grey-bearded 
old Jew from his coin, after I’d finished teachin’ him. 
I think I’ll bring him home to Hannah. She will for- 
give me for leavin’ her, when I present her with this 
little money-maker. Sam Billings, you’re the finest 
schemer of them all !” 

Sam Billings was also one of the worst vagabonds 
of them all, who had spent half his life in jail. He 
never worked ; that is, he never engaged in any honest 
employment, but was always doing something upon 
which the law frowned. His wife, Hannah, tired of 


44 


THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


his repeated trips to prison, had decided on the oc- 
casion of his last release, that he should settle down 
to some decent job, and had seen fit to enforce her 
views with the business-end of a broom-stick. He 
fled from the house, hopped a freight, and was several 
miles outside of Boston before he realized that it was 
too cold a season to be homeless, and that it would 
be easier to bear Hannah’s tongue and broom-stick 
than the wintry blasts. He dropped off the car and 
began his weary return to the city. Fortune sent him 
to spend the night in the barn. 

He was already sound asleep there, smothered in 
ancient hay, when Fred brought Joe in out of the 
night and wrapped him up snug in the corner. The 
lad had not suspected that there was a rather com- 
fortable loft to the barn; else he might have gone up 
there and remained until morning. Then affairs would 
have been much better for him and Joe. But the 
place was too dark, and our friend’s mind too upset, 
to see conditions properly. The sorry results of his 
mistake were now at play. Joe was in the hands of 
the worthless Sam Billings: loafer, thief, burglar, jail- 
bird. Quite at his mercy! 

“Hello, what’s this ?” The silver cross on the child’s 
neck drew and held the tramp’s eye. “Funny thing 
for the kid to wear !” He snapped the black silk cord 
between his thick fingers and pulled off the article. 
He squinted appraisingly as he held it close to his 
eye. 

“Don’t know whether it’s solid silver or only 
plated,” he muttered to himself, “but it will bring me 


“GOD IS LOVE ! 


45 


enough cash to enjoy myself for a day or two when 
I hock it in Boston.” With a whistle of satisfaction, 
he slipped it into his pocket. 

Next he carefully went through every one of little 
Joe’s pockets. “Kids sometimes has pennies,” he told 
himself. His disgusting search was rewarded. He 
found a solitary nickel tied up in a corner of the 
child’s handkerchief. A kind-hearted woman had 
given it to him the morning before, when she saw him 
crying over mama’s grave. It was the very first nickel 
little Joe ever possessed; and so long as he was with 
Billings, it would be the last. 

“Well, if sonny’s to come along with papa to the 
big burg,” said Billings to himself, “I’ll have to make 
a few changes in his appearance for the present, so 
that he will look more like papa’s son.” He took a 
rusty jack-knife out of his hip-pocket, opened it, and 
ran the blade here and there into Joe’s clothing. Then 
he trailed his hand on the barn floor and transferred 
some of the grime to the child’s face and neck. “Noth- 
ing like rags and dirt to make a kid attractively pa- 
thetic,” he cheerfully informed himself. “I’ll have the 
youngster do a little begging for me on the way to 
Boston. Ought to be able to get most of my fare in 
that-a-way, and perhaps have enough to buy Hannah 
a little present to sweeten her temper.” Billings had 
tried his own hand at begging several times before, 
but always unsuccessfully. His full-moon face plain- 
ly gave his outstretched palm and whining voice the 
lie. He had never received anything for his pains 


46 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


but a laugh. But he knew that the case would be 
much different with handsome little Joe. 

The child opened his eyes and gazed pleadingly up 
at the man. He said nothing, but the look clearly 
asked, “Where is my brother — please give him to me — 
please !” 

“I ain’t got your brother, and I don’t know any 
more of his whereabouts than the man in the moon,” 
snarled the man, showing all his yellow teeth. “But 
you don’t need a brother any more anyhow, sonny, 
because you’ve got me. I’m going to be your papa. 
How do you like your new old man, eh?” 

He dug a finger into Joe’s ribs and chuckled. The 
child shrank from him. 

“Dear me, sonny’s afraid of the old boy,” laughed 
Billings. “Well, that’s all right — just as it should be. 
Children should love, fear and obey their daddies. 
Keep on fearing me, kid, or I’ll wallop you one ! 
Now, git up on your feet. We’re going to Boston. 
Git!” 

“I want Fred.” 

“You want another lickin’, I’m a-thinkin’. Git!” 
The big hand again smote Joe’s mouth. The child’s 
countenance was full of an expression of horrified 
wonder. Was he sleeping? When would he wake 
up from the awful nightmare through which he was 
passing, and find himself again at his brother’s side? 
Surely he was living only in a bad dream. 

But no! Sam Billings was a creature of flesh and 
blood, not a dream man; and he meant business. 

Grabbing the child’s hand and slapping his own 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


47 


battered derby hat more securely on his head, he an- 
nounced, “We’re ready for Boston. We’ll travel by 
rail — closely by rail, do you hear?” 

Joe dumbly followed the hobo. There was nothing 
else to do. 

The sun had fully risen, and the big expanse of 
snowy meadowland dazzled in the rays. It was not 
so cold as the day before. The world seemed good 
to live in, and Billings’ spirits rose high. 

“What’s your name, son o’ my heart?” he brightly 
inquired of Joe. 

“My name is Joseph Carlton, and my mother is 
dead, and I want Fred ” 

“Look here, you, Joe” — the man’s face darkened 
with mock anger — “if you mention that name ‘Fred’ 
once more, I’ll twist your neck and cut you up into 
little bits just like I’d do to a plug of tobacco with 
my knife, and mebbe I’ll throw the little scraps of 
you into the sea for the fishes to eat up. Get Me?” 

The child shook all over. He believed the man 
capable of doing everything he said. He could only 
nod his head. 

“That’s right, sonny,” Billings beamingly proceeded. 
“Do whatever papa tells you, and he’ll be good to you. 
But if you don’t” — he made a grim motion with his 
hands, as if holding and slicing a little boy all up — 
“Ah!” 

He paused a few moments to let the threat sink 
in deep. 

They were nearing Crawford. “Now, when we get 


48 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


into that fine town,” he gruffly told Joe, “I’ll expect 
you to do a little work for your pa.” 

Joe wondered what the work would be, but was 
given no enlightenment until, fifteen minutes later, 
they stood on Maine street, where a number of people 
were on their way to the shoe-factories that furnished 
the chief industry of the town. Billings whispered to 
the child, “You can begin now. Listen to me. I’ll 
be standing behind the corner there, and you go up 
to that stout, easy-going-lookin’ fellow that’s a-comin’ 
down the street over there. He’s mush all right. Go 
up to him and say that you’re starvin’ and won’t he 
please give you a few cents to buy some breakfast. 
Tell him you ain’t got no father, no mother, and you’re 
on your way to your grandmother in Alden, and ain’t 
got a cent in your pocket. Git !” 

“I won’t!” said Joe, in a flare of spirit. “That’s 
begging. Mamma and Fred wouldn’t let me do that.” 

“You do what you’re told,” muttered Billings dark- 
ly. “I have a knife here in my pocket and it’s mighty 
sharp, too. Git !” 

The look of absolute terror returned to the child’s 
eyes. He stumbled away from the man to do his 
bidding. 

“Please, sir, I’m— I’m hungry. Kin I have some 
breakfast?” The stout, red-cheeked workman, thus 
addressed, put his hand on his hip, and stood still with 
surprise and interest. 

“Kin I have some pennies to buy something to eat ?” 
Joe tremblingly repeated. 

“Why, baby, you’rel the first young pan-handler I’ve 



‘Please, sir, I’m — I’m hungry 


Kin I have some breakfast?” 






J 








































> 




















✓ 

























































* 




» 





i 


I 














































1 


« » » 
























. •• 





"GOD IS LOVE” 


5i 


ever seen here in Crawford/’ the man observed. "I 
bet you don’t belong here.” 

"I don’t,” declared Joe. “I came away with my 
brother Fred and — ” Billings’ awful eye was peeking 
around the corner. Joe saw it; also Billings’ fist. So, 
in fright, he broke off making confidences to the agree- 
able laborer. “I — I want to get to Alden,” he quav- 
ered. 

“Well, little man, my home’s just a stone’s throw 
from here. I have a boy about your size. His mama’s 
preparing a nice, warm breakfast to pack away in his 
tummy. Brown flap-jacks and lots, lots, lots of syrup! 
Would you like to go there to get something to eat?” 

Would he? The child’s mouth watered and he 
wanted to run to the place. But again his eye caught 
Billings’. “I wish I could — but somebody’s waiting 
for me,” he said. 

Just then the 7:15 whistle from the factory pierced 
the crisp morning air. 

“Gosh, I’m about late!” the fat man exclaimed. 
“I’ll have to go as fast as the wind or get ‘docked’.” 
He fumbled in his pocked and found a dime. “Here 
you are, little man — good luck !” he cried, slipping the 
coin into Joe’s hand, and was off. 

Joe held the money tight and brought it to the villain 
around the corner. 

“Won’t you give me F — my brother back again 
now?” he piteously asked. For answer he received a 
cruel pinch in the arm, and a command to “shut up 
if you don’t want to be choked.” 

Billings lost no time in finding a saloon where free 


52 


THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


lunch was served. Joe waited outside while the fellow 
spent the fifteen cents, quite unconcerned for the child 
to whom it belonged. 

For the rest of the morning, hungry and chilled, 
the little lad stumbled alongside the wretch, stopping 
here and there, when ordered, to beg. By noon-time, 
he had acquired enough cash for Billings to induce 
that gentleman to travel part of the way to Boston by 
trolley. 

On the car, right next to them, a well-dressed, elder- 
ly lady was seated. Her face was plump and rosy, and 
gray curls peeked from under her black hat. Joe’s 
forlorn appearance evidently appealed to her; for she 
opened the plush bag which she carried in her right 
hand, and drew out a piece of silver. “Take this, 
little fellow, to buy candy,” said she, with a smile. Joe 
flashed a look of gratitude up into her face. Not the 
money, but her kindness, pleased his tired, hungry, 
little heart. 

Billings, however, had got a glimpse of the interior 
of the bag when the woman snapped it open. He saw 
a roll of green and instantly burned to have it. 

The lady deposited her property on the seat, think- 
ing it quite safe near the child, and turned her gaze 
from Joe to the snowy landscape that shifted across 
the car-windows. Billings seized the boys’ wrist in 
a fierce grip and whispered in his ear, “Grab that 
bag!” Terrified — as he could not help being, when 
Billings’ either touched or looked at him — he obeyed, 
grasping the article and handing it to the man. 

Then a cold fear, worse even than his terror for 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


53 


Billings, spread all over him. He thought of his 
mother and Fred, and how grieved they would be to 
see what he had done. Also a picture of a big, stern 
policeman, with a huge star of a badge, rose to his 
young brain. A sob came out of his throat. 

Billings hastily signalled to the conductor, and the 
car stopped. In a second, they were off and making 
their way to a nearby railroad station. Fortunately 
for Billings, a train for Boston was standing in the 
depot, just ready to pull out. He tossed Joe aboard 
and jumped up after him. The whistle blew. They 
were off. 

And all that the angry woman saw, who ran into 
the station with an officer, was a black line of cars, 
fast diminishing in the distance. 

On the train, Billings took a quiet opportunity to 
search the bag. He discovered that he was the richer 
by no less than seventy-five dollars. 

“Good boy!” he approved, patting white-faced little 
Joe on the head. “You’re a treasure, and your pa 
certainly does appreciate you.” “Here,” he called to 
a train-boy, who was passing through the coach with 
a tempting display of fruits and candies, “give this 
young ’un five cents’ worth of peppermints.” 

“We sell only the ten-cent packages,” said the boy. 

“Well, then, give him a banana.” 

The youngster looked his disgust at Billings’ stingi- 
ness, and selected for the child the biggest and most 
golden piece? of fruit in his basket. 

Out of a ten-dollar note, Billings paid the required 
three cents. The train-boy’s disgust amounted to a 


54 


THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


loathing, as he continued his travel down the aisle. 

Joe was hungry, but he was so afraid and ashamed 
of what he had done that he could not eat. He thought 
of the lady who had gazed so kindly upon him, just 
like his own mother used to, and given him money. 
He toyed with the banana awhile, and kept gazing with 
blinking wet eyes, out the window. 

'‘Humph! Sonny would rather feed his face on the 
scenery than on good fruit, I guess.” Saying which, 
Billings let his big, dirty hand descend and take the 
banana captive. He ate it with much clucking and 
relish. 

After that, he recalled that the lady whose money 
was now his, had given Joe a coin. Promptly, his 
thick fingers found their way into the boy’s little coat- 
pocket and removed the twenty-five-cent piece. 

“Your papa will take care of all your earnin’s, 
Joey,” he promised, with a grin, “until you are of 
age.” 

Then he fell asleep, and snored so loudly that the 
other passengers looked at him with annoyance. Joe 
crouched close to the corner, as far away from him 
as possible, dreaming of Fred and of the fair mother 
who had gone to Heaven. Surely they would come 
and take their little Joe from this evil man ! He hoped 
it would be soon — his small heart was breaking. Dark- 
ness descended; star-spangled was the sky, as the 
evening before, but lonelier, ten times lonelier. “Fred, 
Fred!” cried the child, under his breath, so that Bill- 
ings, the terrible, might not hear. “Fred, Fred!” 



Then down from the skies his mother’s spirit seem to glide 
like a seraph. 



■* • ‘ . 



































* 

. . 


* 



























■■ 
















. 













. 












1 


*• 















- 

. * 











I 


































“GOD IS LOVE 1 


57 


Scalding tears, full of salt, rolled over his little cheeks. 
His face sank on his elbow. 

Then down from the skies his mother’s spirit seemed 
to glide like a seraph. He felt her soft arms encircle 
him and pillow his aching head on her breast. “Fred 
is not gone forever, dear little Joe,” she seemed to 
say. “You will see him yet, my son, my boy.” 

In peace, he slept. And, in his dreams, angels soft- 
ly drifted, singing — 

“A mother’s love! 

If there be one thing pure, 

Where all beside is sullied, 

That can endure, 

When all else passes away; 

If there be aught 

Surpassing human deed or word, or thought, 

It is a mother’s love.” 


58 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


CHAPTER VI. 

Sunshine And Shadow. 

W HEN Fred again became master of his senses, 
three weeks after the accident, he found him- 
self in fairy-land. The walls of the room were 
snowy with a satiny paper, enlivened with delicate 
gold designs. The furniture shone in white enamel. 
By the bed rose a slender marble table on which, in 
a graceful vase of silver, a large cluster of velvety 
American Beauties breathed forth an exquisite fra- 
grance. 

Fred had never seen such an apartment before. He 
rubbed his eyes until they smarted, but the place re- 
mained as wonderful as at first. 

A lady’s musical voice came from beyond the door. 
It sounded to Fred like a number of tiny bells tinkling 
in a breeze. 

“So he is likely to be well enough to be removed 
this morning?” he heard. “How pleased I am! May 
I go in to see him?” 

The door opened and revealed a vision. The cold 
morning air has given Rosa Pastorinni’s cheeks just 
the right tinge and her eyes the proper sparkle. Her 
rich Russian furs set off her dark beauty to perfection. 
Doctor Campbell fluttered adoringly behind her. 

Fred sat up in bed, positive that his wits were de- 
ceiving him. 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


59 


The lady stole over to him and took one of his 
hands. “Thank God!” she murmured devoutly. “You 
are well again — well at last.” 

“Have I been ill?” asked Fred. 

“At death’s door,” she answered. “I’ve been storm- 
ing Heaven to save you. Prayer and Doctor Camp- 
bell’s excellent skill” — she smiled sweetly at the sur- 
geon, who nodded his appreciation and struck a pose — 
“have won 'the day.” 

“But I don’t seem to understand anything,” pro- 
tested Fred, as he looked helplessly about him. 

“One night, three weeks ago,” Madame explained, 
“my car struck you down on a lonely road. We took 
you here, and the Doctor has been caring for you 
ever since.” 

It was then that memory flooded back into Fred’s 
brain. Under its force, he was silent for a few 
moments. Suddenly the question sprang from his 
lips and soul, “Where is Joe?” 

“Joe?” asked the lady. 

“My little brother Joe,” Fred repeated. “I left 
him at the barn that night, when I went out into the 
road to try to stop the machine and get you to take 
us to Crawford. We were suffering from the cold — 
we had walked so far. Didn’t you take my brother 
when you took me? Where is he?” 

Surprise and sorrow came -to Madame’s counten- 
ance. “My boy,” she confessed, the tears starting to 
her eyes, “I thought you were all alone in the world. 
I didn’t dream that you had a little brother with you ; 


6o 


THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


or, of course, I would have found him and taken him 
along too.” 

“And — and it’s three whole weeks — ago?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then almost anything may have happened to my 
brother. I’m going to find him!” 

He had flung the coverlets aside and put one foot 
on the floor, when Doctor Campbell took him gently 
but firmly by the shoulders and pressed him back into 
the bed. 

“You are still too weak,” he told him. “Why you 
couldn’t get half a mile beyond this house without 
keeling over. We — this good lady, your benefactress, 
and I — can do everything for you. We will search 
everywhere and leave no stone unturned ; shall we, 
Rosa?” (Their friendship had progressed so far that 
now they regularly used the first name in addressing 
each other.) 

“I promise you that we will begin a search for him 
at once, my poor boy,” declared Madame, intensely. 
“To save your life, we tore you from your brother. 
Heaven grant that we may be as successful in finding 
your brother as we have been in saving your life! 
We will do everything — everything, my boy! Will 
you trust us?” 

Fred turned his eyes upon her, and, as they searched 
her fair madonna-like face, shining with love, their 
look of pain gave way to one of hope and confidence. 
“I shall trust you,” he said simply. She looked her 
thanks. 

Then followed a long conversation — at least as long 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


61 


as the watchful Doctor would permit. Fred told 
about himself and his brother, the death of his parents, 
and his desire to keep Joe from public charity. The 
lady in turn mentioned the promise she had made to 
befriend him always, if Heaven spared his life. 

“I have plenty of the world’s goods,” she smiled, 
“and God has been very good to me. I want to be 
good to you — and your little brother also. When we 
find him, I promise that he shall live by your side and 
lack nothing.” 

The rest of the day, Madame and Doctor Campbell 
tried earnestly to locate a young boy by the name of 
Joseph Carlton. They motored first to the road where 
the accident occurred weeks before. They found and 
investigated the barn, loft and all. “Looks as though 
somebody slept on that hay,” remarked the Doctor, 
pointing to the place which had really been Sam Bill- 
ings’ bed for a night. “Perhaps that somebody took 
the child away with him,” he suggested. Madame 
thought this possible, but did not dream how true it 
really was. For want of a more satisfactory clue, 
however, they followed it up and actually succeeded 
in tracing the movements of Joe and the tramp from 
Crawford to the Boston train. The couple — hand- 
some little boy and repulsive middle-aged man — had 
attracted more than passing notice ; and Joe, of course, 
could not but have left a memory wherever he begged. 
Finally, the theft of the old lady’s hand-bag was told. 
And all these facts rendered it anything but difficult 
to learn about the missing one. But at North Station, 


62 


THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


Boston, all became a blank again. The great city had 
swallowed up the man and the boy. 

Madame and her escort, however, were not dis- 
couraged. They knew that the child was in Boston; 
that was a big piece of information to acquire by them- 
selves — all in one day, too. They felt like regular 
detectives. But now they deemed it time to engage 
the services of a genuine sleuth. So, stopping at an 
agency in Boston and leaving full particulars, they re- 
turned home, well pleased with each other and the 
universe. 

In the course of the day, Fred had been carefully 
removed, in a smooth-running car, to Madame’s 
house; and here he was received by her son, Louis, a 
lad of fifteen, with the great dark eyes of Italy and 
the ruddy cheeks of America. The boys had only 
to look at each other once to like each other forever. 
Wealth and a mother’s excessive fondness had not 
spoiled Louis in the least; he had every fine trait that 
Uncle Sam’s boys are supposed to possess, as well 
as a singularly warm and affectionate heart, imported 
from sunny Europe. 

He gave Fred the heartiest of handshakes. “I’ve 
always wanted a brother,” he told him, “and a couple 
of weeks ago mother told me that, with God’s help, I 
was going to get one — not a squalling, red little thing, 
who couldn’t play ball and put on the gloves with me, 
but a full-grown brother, as big as myself. Well, I 
just let a ‘whoop-la’ out of me at the news, and 
bounded off to tell Father Dave all about it. Father 
Dave McDonough is our pastor and my best friend. 


"GOD IS LOVE” 


63 


I’ll introduce you to him, Fred — he is simply great! — 
pious as can be, but a cracker- jack athlete all the same. 
You ought to see him pull a pair of oars, or pitch a 
curve, or vault a fence — just wait! We three are 
going to have some great old times together. 

"Well, when mother told me that I was going to 
have a brother, she also said that he was quite sick 
from some automobile accident, and that I’d have to 
pray hard for him to get well, and that Doctor Camp- 
bell — (I don’t like him!) — was looking out for him. 
Maybe I didn’t pray. I kept my candle in front of 
St. Anthony’s shrine down at the church, lighted up, 
and Father Dave and I knelt until our knees were 
sore. I wanted mother to let me go to the Doctors 
to see you, but she always said, ‘No — not yet; your 
brother’s not well enough.’ Then I’d always go up 
to my bed-room or down to church, and just pray all 
the harder. I nearly jumped out of my skin with joy 
this morning when mother slipped into my bed-room, 
just as the sun was rising, and told me that today I’d 
most likely see my brother. I’ve been acting crazy 
since — fooling the cook, pestering the janitor, doing 
everything to make the minutes wheel along until I’d 
see you. My — I’m some talker, ain’t I ? I haven’t 
given my new brother a chance to say a word.” 

The boy’s friendliness and sincerity touched Fred. 
He wanted his own Joe so badly that he could readily 
understand how Louis longed for companionship. He 
would try to be all that Louis expected. 

"I am not in a good enough condition yet, to be a 
very interesting chum,” he apologized, "but I’ll be on 


64 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


my feet in a few days, and then you’ll find me as 
eager for sports as the best of them. I used to be 
captain of the boys’ club where I came from.” 

“Great ! And then some people will say that prayers 
are not heard. Why, I’m getting every single thing 
I asked for — a brother and one that can play games! 
Gee, but I’m lucky, and God is mighty generous — he 
has Santa Claus beat by a million miles, as Father 
Dave says to the children.” 

It was down in the main hall of the mansion that 
the boyish conversation took place. The house was 
not so large and splendid as the Doctor’s, but more 
home-like and dainty. It evinced good taste and a 
woman’s touch in every - detail, and wealth without 
showiness or extravagance. The Doctor’s home had 
awed Fred ; this one delighted him. 

Louis insisted on helping the servants to carry his 
“brother” up-stairs. 

The room into which they brought him would have 
thrilled any youth. The walls were covered with pen- 
nants, paddles, boxing-gloves, and all the other objects 
so dear the heart of a red-blooded boy. The corners 
were agreeably crowded with hockeys, bats, and 
skates — roller and ice. There were two beds. 

“I had an extra one put in here this morning,” ex- 
plained Louis. “The days worj’t be long enough for 
me to be with my brother, so I’m going to be with him 
at night, too. What do you think of the den, Fred?” 

“Couldn’t be any better — it is perfect !” 

“So say I — now that I have somebody to share it 
with me. Half of everything I own is yours, Fred — 


"GOD IS LOVE’’ 


65 


clothes, troubles, and all. Friendship is supposed to 
divide our sorrows and double our joys. I read that 
somewhere. Say, we’re just the same size. That’s 
fine — isn’t it ! There’s enough stuff here to start a 
store with.” 

As Fred lay in his new bed, Louis brought forth all 
his possessions, one by one. Before two hours passed, 
the lads had learned more about each other than a pair 
of grown-ups would know after many years. 

At six o’clock, a maid appeared with a silver tray 
laden with the best supper Fred ever saw. A cold 
roast chicken, so tender that it fairly fell apart at the 
touch of the knife and fork; creamy, golden, steaming 
coffee ; little cakes, yellow as honey, and so beautifully 
frosted that it was a shame to crush them with teeth ; 
bread, white and soft as snow-flakes — . 

The boys "punished the meal,” worse than any 
food had ever been attacked before. Considerately, 
they allowed the bones of the chicken to remain ; also 
one or two crumbs of bread and cake. 

"It seems to give a fellow an appetite to have a 
brother,” sighed Louis, placing a hand on a bulging 
stomach. "I never ate so much or enjoyed eating so 
much.” 

"Same here,” admitted Fred, washing down the last 
delicious mouthful with a sparkling glass of spring 
water. "Only — ” 

"Only what, Fred?” 

"Only I couldn’t help thinking all the time that 
perhaps Joe — my little brother — is hungry.” 

"Well, if he is, old boy, he won’t be for long,” 


66 THE TALE OP TWO BROTHERS 


encouraged Louis, stroking Fred on the shoulder. 
“Mother will find him all right for you. Then I’ll 
have two brothers — two real brothers. You will share 
him up with me, Fred, won’t you? He can sleep with 
you one night and with me the next. Shall we ar- 
range it that way?” 

Louis’ chatter and pleasant view-point put Fred back 
in spirits. 

When Madame returned from Boston at nine 
o’clock, she found them deep in a game of checkers. 
It was only when she laid her hand on the board be- 
tween them that they were aware of her presence. 
As Louis smiled up at her, she saw a happier fire in 
his eye than she had ever beheld there before, and she 
knew that Fred, his new brother, had kindled it. 

“I have good news for you, Fred — my boy, son,” 
she announced with pleasure. “Joe is in Boston. 
Doctor Campbell and I traced him there. A detective 
is now working on the case, and, in a few days at the 
most, the child will be with you again, to leave no 
more.” 

“God bless you!” was all that Fred could say. His 
heart throbbed fast. 

If he was not quite at heaven’s gate, just yet, he 
surely would be well within the blissful confines, when 
little Joe was found to share his great, good fortune. 

A bit of poetry glided through his memory — through 
his soul — like a sunbeam: 

“Auspicious hope! in thy sweet garden grow 
Wreaths for each toil, a charm for every woe.” 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


67 


CHAPTER VII. 

In The City. 

W HEN the train which carried Joe and his captor 
slowed down in Boston, the latter roused the 
child with a rough shake, grabbed his arm, and yanked 
him out into the night. 

The noise and the glare of the city made Joe dizzy. 
He kept stumbling, and, at each trip, Billings would 
pinch him hard and mumble a curse. 

A car-ride and a walk through much deep and dirry 
slush brought them to a wretched street. Shabby tene- 
ment houses, zig-zagged with fire-escapes and lit up 
in hundreds of spots with the sickly glow of blue gas- 
flames, rose grim on either side. Billings stopped 
before a battered door-way. 

“Home at last, young kid,” he yawned, opening tile 
door slowly, as if afraid of something. 

The black tunnel of corridor which they entered 
was stale and full of the ghosts of by-gone dinners, 
among which cabbage and onions must have prom- 
inently figured. Up three flights of creaky stairs, 
Billings dragged the shrinking boy, holding the little 
hand in a grip of steel. 

“Gosh, but I’d rather do anything than face the old 
lady,” he confided, more to himself than Joe, pausing 
on the landing right outside a particular door behind 
which, presumably, the subject of his thoughts held 
sway. 


68 


THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


“Well, it has to be done.” He whistled a little to 
give himself courage, threw out his chest, bade Joe 
keep right behind him, and then opened the door. 

A small, untidy room — kitchen, chamber and parlor 
combined — was where Joe found himself. At a table 
sat a stern-looking woman in a blue wrapper with 
black and white dots. She was moodily stirring a 
cup of tea with the handle of a fork. Joe thought 
of a picture he once saw of an old witch bending 
over a caldron. He trembled. 

“I’m back again, Hannah dearie,” murmured Bill- 
ings, with an attempt at affection which was painfully 
ridiculous. Slipping over to her side, he put his dirty 
hands on her hardly cleaner neck. 

She said nothing but eyed him coldly. Then she 
rose and deliberately walked away from him to the 
corner of the room. He watched her with evidences 
of fear. A broom was standing there. Grasping it 
with both strong bony hands, she wheeled around in 
a flash and made a great flourish at the man’s head. 
He quickly stooped, and the force of her movement 
gave “Hannah dearie” a most violent twist which 
threatened to snap her spare frame in two. That 
aroused her wrath completely. Her face was purple. 
Joe could see a big blue vein in the side of her fore- 
head twitch. She flung down her wooden weapon and 
murderously grabbed a big flat-iron off the stove. 

Billings was shaking like a leaf. Like all bullies, 
he was the worst of cowards. “Money— money, Han- 
nah,— look !” he cried, digging his thumb-y fingers 


“GOD IS LOVE” 69 

into his pocket and jerking out the stolen hand-bag. 
“It’s for you, Hannah — all for you !” 

The woman’s eye, as well as her ear, was inter- 
ested. A big “Ah!” tumbled out of her toothless 
mouth. The upraised flat-iron descended and found 
its way back to the stove. The purple hue in her face 
faded down to an excited red. Her almond eyes 
glistened. Money! That seemed to be the sweetest 
word the creature knew — the sound was “music to 
soothe a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a 
knotted oak.” 

“Well, dearie,” ventured Billings timidly, “what do 
you think of your husband now?” 

“Well, I guess that there are probably worse worms 
in the world than you,” she conceded, throwing him 
a glance of forgiveness. “You can stay.” 

“Thanks, Hannah,” said Billings, meekly. “We like 
each other after all, don’t we?” 

Hannah laughed and gazed pityingly at her poor 
specimen of a helpmeet. “What’s ailin’ you?” she 
inquired with sarcasm. “Are you hungry — or have 
you the grippe?” 

“Yes, I’m hungry, Hannah; and I do feel a little 
bit sick and worn out after workin’ so hard to get all 
that money for you.” He pointed to the pile of wealth 
on the table. 

Hannah again gave a hard laugh. “Catch you 
workin’, Sam Billings,” she sneered. “The nearest 
you ever get to toil is takin’ your shoes oflf at night. 
You workin ’ — ha!” 

“Well, never you mind, Hannah,” said Billings, 


;o 


THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


solemnly. “I’ve discovered a way to do my duty and 
support this here household. Look at present No. 2.’ 
He grabbed little Joe by the collar and thrust him in 
front of her. 

“In the name of suffering cats, what’s that?” 
Hannah wanted to know, allowing her sharp eyes to 
pierce right into Joe’s terrified face. Up till now, he 
had gone absolutely unnoticed, while husband and 
wife were settling their differences. It was awful to 
occupy the centre of the stage — such a stage! 

“Why, it is a small money-machine, Hannah 
dearie,” explained Billings, rubbing his hands together 
and smiling horribly. “I picked him up in a barn on 
the road. His brother ran away from him.” (How 
those cruel words sank into Joe’s soul ! — like bars of 
red-hot iron.) “He ain’t got no one in the world to 
look out for him, I guess ; so I was big-hearted enough 
to take him to my bosom. And, Hannah dearie, my 
goodness was repaid; for I found that the kid makes 
a bird of a little beggar. He picked up enough to buy 
me my breakfast and dinner — just as nice and easy as 
punkin pie. It comes natural to him. Why, Hannah, 
it was him that stole the hand-bag with all this money 
for you and me. Ain’t we in luck, old girl, now ain’t 
we ?” 

The woman said nothing, but kept looking at the 
child as though she could never turn her eyes away 
from him. Their cold gleam had become strangely 
warm. Billings watched her, puzzled. 

Finally she spoke, and there was a break in her 
voice. “Our Henry would be just as big as this boy, 


“GOD IS LOVE 1 


Sam, if he lived. I wish, God knows how I wish, he 
was alive ! We wouldn’t be like this now. He’d have 
given us something to live and work for.” 

Billings bowed his head, raised his fist, and wiped 
out of his eye the tear that was not there. The early 
death of the child, Henry, had not bothered him much ; 
he always had more love for himself than any other 
human being. But he was afraid of the tongue of his 
better half, if he did not fall in line with her mood. 

“Ain’t that right, Hannah?” he sighed. “Now 
ain’t it!” 

“Yes — you villain!” flared the wife, so loudly and 
unexpectedly that Billings jumped as though shot. 
“I’d be a different lady — but you’d be the same old 
soak ! Why the night our little angel went away from 
us, you were gone from home and didn’t show up till 
after the funeral. I had been patient enough with you 
until then, but when I saw what little respect and af- 
fection you had for your own flesh and blood, I re- 
solved to have none for you ! I’ve been head of this 
house since, and I’ll keep on holdin’ down the position, 
see ! And as head of this house, I have some instruc- 
tions to give you, Sam Billings, and I promise to rip 
every hair out of your head if I ever catch you dis- 
obeying ’em. You used to slap our Henry — big brute! 
— but if you ever dare to lay a finger on this boy, I’ll 
squash you with that flat-iron. I’m going to look out 
for him, and you’re not needed, see!” 

The mother-heart under her severe and crusty ex- 
terior was touched and won by Joe’s appealingly sad 
little face. She knew that her coarse husband must 


72 


THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


have treated him harshly, and the realization smarted 
in her soul. 

Mrs. Billings was as much to be pitied as blamed 
for her state. Trouble seemed to have been her asso- 
ciate from the time she was an infant. All the ills 
that babies suffer had visited themselves on her. As 
a grown-up girl, she was thin, ill-nourished, homely, 
a target for the insults of the boys of the neighbor- 
hood, and the care-taker of three mischievous, un- 
manageable, younger sisters. At sixteen, she secured 
a position in a shoe-factory, which almost killed her 
and paid her only five dollars a week for the privilege. 
But her worst misfortune was yet to come. At twenty 
she met and married it. Billings! 

There had been no religion in her life, nothing to 
smooth over the rough places. Her father had made 
the mistake of marrying outside the Church, and the 
children were all brought up like heathen. Hannah 
knew as little about the faith of her sires as did the 
natives of the darkest spot in Africa about base-ball. 
The wonder was not that she had acquired so many 
disagreeable traits, but that she had kept any good 
qualities at all. 

“Come here, child,” said she to Joe tenderly, stretch- 
ing out her arms. And somehow the fact that she 
was anything but neat and mother-like did not trouble 
the boy now. She was kind, and that was everything. 
He ran right to her and threw his arms about her 
neck, looking fearfully around at Billings, seeking pro- 
tection from him. 

“He’ll never hurt you, darling,” the woman prom- 


"GOD IS LOVE” 


73 


ised, straining Joe to her heart, "except over my dead 
body.” 

Billings grunted and shifted his weight from one 
foot to the other. 

"You think more of this kid already than you do 
of your lawfully wedded husband,” he grumbled. 
"Where do I fit in?” 

"Don’t make me laugh,” requested Hannah briefly. 

"Well, are you goin’ to give me some of that money 
for bringin’ a fine little son home to you? Are you, 
I ask?” 

Hannah leaned over the table and picked up the 
identical quarter that Billings had taken from Joe. 
Poetic justice must have guided her hand. 

"Here,” said she, handing it to him grudgingly. 
"It’s too much for you, but I suppose you’re entitled 
to some consideration. Now, get out of here, and 
blow y’rself to a fifteen-cent supper at some cook-shop. 
I want to be alone with this boy awhile. I guess he’s 
had more than enough of your funny face for a year. 
Go!” 

Billings tried to protest at the small allowance. 
Twenty-five cents indeed — when he had given her 
about seventy-five dollars ! But Hannah never argued 
with words, preferring the broom-stick and flat-iron 
method. "Go !” she yawped, seizing a cup from the 
table. Needless to say, the chicken-hearted husband 
flew to the door, and it closed behind him with a bang. 

"Haven’t I got him trained beautiful,” she sighed 
to Joe. "And time was when I m’self used to go 
lickety-split through the door just like that, Sam 


74 


THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


thro win’ everything in the house at me. Well, at last 
the tables is turned, as they say in the the-ay-tres. Say, 
honey, what’s your name?” 

Little Joe started to tell her all about himself. He 
felt like talking, now that his persecutor was gone. 

“Not another word,” interrupted Hannah, in the 
midst of the story, “until you’ve had a bite to eat. 
It’s so good to hear you talk, darlin’, that I don’t want 
you to speak your little head empty all at once.” 

Joe felt more comfortable every minute. She was a 
nice woman, was Hannah Billings, so many facts 
notwithstanding. She treated him like his own mother. 

In a few seconds, a good chop was sizzling in the 
frying-pan on the rusty gas-stove. It took only a 
minute to prepare a cup of cocoa and to cut four or 
five slices of bread. 

All in all, it seemed to Joe about as decent a meal 
as he had ever eaten. Hunger gave every mouthful a 
delicious spice. Color came back to his cheeks and his 
big eyes twinkled. 

The woman watched him admiringly. He looked 
like some cherub, strayed from one of Raphael’s 
marvelous paintings. The poor woman knew nothing 
about the great Italian artist, but she could love the 
childish innocence and beauty which he appreciated 
and reproduced. Her hands fairly ached to caress 
little Joe. 

After the meal, she seated herself in the only rocker 
— a rickety relic — of which the room could boast, 
and took the boy on her knee. He was drowsy and 
his head kept nodding on her bosom. He answered 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


75 


her questions in a musical littlq voice that seemed to 
come from far away. Far away! The grave? The 
place where her own man-child lay sleeping? Her 
arms tightened about Joe, as though he were her flesh 
and blood restored. Some tears rolled down on his 
sunny hair. He was asleep — but not forever, like her 
own boy. Tomorrow, he would wake, and the day 
after, and the day after! What a joy to be a mother 
again ! 

“I’ll never give him up,” she promised herself, bend- 
ing her head, and reverently imprinting a kiss on Joe’s 
warm white forehead. “I never will ! — even though 
all Boston is let loose at me. Sam says his brother 
abandoned him. Well, I’ll never abandon you, darlin’. 
Your name is Joseph Billings from now on.” 


76 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


CHAPTER VIII. 


Fred And Louis Find Their Vocation. 

D OUBTLESS there is nothing incompetent about 
Boston detectives. They know their business. 
But the fact remains that there are several Sam Bill- 
ings and Joe Carltons in a city like New England’s 
largest. To find a particular individual who resembles 
many others, is as difficult as to secure a piece of soap 
that has fallen to the bottom of a tank of dark water. 

Under the great waves of city life, somewhere, was 
a little boy whom an elder brother “was seeking, sor- 
rowing.” But profound mystery shrouded the case. 
Fred urged Madame and the Doctor on to the search, 
and they, in turn, inspired the agency to its utmost, 
regardless of expense. 

But from the minute Billings with Joe stepped off 
the train at North Station, his movements were a 
blank. The very easiest place for a person to lose 
himself and escape all attention is in a crowd of people, 
where every one is too busy to notice anyone. 

Each day Madame and her escort would return from 
Boston and give our anxious Fred nothing but hopes. 
And as the days went by, the hopes grew faint, like a 
fading rainbow. 

Louis did all he could to cheer his adopted brother, 
and the latter, appreciating the generous lad’s efforts, 
concealed his disappointments and heart-aches so well 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


77 


that no one but God knew just how much he grieved. 

Time and patience, however, which are “sorrow’s 
salves,” brought Fred much relief. Heaven gave him 
grace to bear his trials. Christ seemed to clasp his 
hand. An angelic voice whispered to him of trust. 
He thought of the Child Jesus, lost to His loved and 
loving ones, and the divine words which fell from 
those sacred boyish lips when Mary and Joseph found 
Him preaching in the temple: “How is it that you 
sought me? did you not know, that I must be about 
my Father’s business?” Perhaps little Joe, like 
the divine Child, had a special mission in life. Per- 
haps, even thus early, he, too, must be about his Heav- 
enly Father’s purpose. God, who “disposes all things 
sweetly,” had probably allowed misfortune to come to 
the boy that good might come to others. Who knew ? 

And Fred, like Mary, the Virgin Mother, kept all 
these things in his heart. 

He was determined to spare no effort to find his 
brother; yet, if he could not locate him, he would not 
despair, but all the more earnestly pray God to guide 
the little footsteps in the path of virtue and truth. 

Meantime he had made a real friend who was a 
great comfort to him, and whose holy influence was 
largely the cause of his noble determination to take 
up his cross and follow Jesus without a murmur. This 
was Father David McDonough, whom Louis mentioned 
the first day he met Fred. The priest understood bo>- 
nature, for he loved and always made friends with 
Youth. As a seminarian, he had the distinction of 
conducting the best Sunday-School classes in the city ; 


78 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


as pastor, his sanctuary cherubs were the neatest and 
best instructed in the diocese, and his choir the envy 
of every other church. His parochial school showed 
wonderful averages, and the base-ball team, which he 
found time to coach in person, had been a winner for 
eight seasons straight. Much of his success was due 
to his cheery face and sympathetic heart. He never 
got angry. “Life is too short to give any of it to 
scowls,” he would say, “and the weather man will make 
enough dark days for us without our adding on any 
more.” The children loved every whitening hair of 
his head. Seldom could he be seen on the street with- 
out four or five Jacks or Rosies hanging onto his hands. 
People would sometimes inquire whether he ever 
found the little ones, with their pranks and prattle, a 
nuisance; and, like Saint Philip Neri, his favorite and 
patron, he would reply : “Why I’d gladly let them chop 
wood on my back, if it would help to keep them happy 
and innocent.” 

It was this big-souled man to whom Louis intro- 
duced Fred, and who made the saddened boy look at 
last on the bright side of life. “Christ was happy, 
Fred, in the little home amidst the hills of Nazareth,” 
said he to our young friend, laying his hand on his 
shoulder. “But the time came when He had to leave 
all that was dear to Him, and walk the thorny path 
which, beginning in the desert, was strewn with envy, 
privation and slander, and ended on the summit of 
Mount Calvary. And He Who so suffered, my boy, 
was our Master; we are only His servants. Is the 


“GOD IS LOVE’ 


79 


servant any greater than the Master, that he should 
suffer less ? 

“You will see your brother some day. Prepare well 
for that meeting, so that you may be fit to assume his 
care again and reclaim him from any faults into which 
this separation may have thrown him.” 

Such advice as this — and it was frequent — always 
lit a new candle of comfort for Fred, and made a spirit 
of manliness glow within him. 

His health was now rosily restored, and Louis, wild 
with delight to have for his very own a companion who 
could do about everything in the athletic line and do it 
well, exhibited him proudly all over town. From the 
very start, the boys took a liking to Fred; it was a 
foregone conclusion that he would be elevated to the 
same position here that he occupied in the home village 
— the captaincy of the field club. 

Spring was not long away, and he would soon have 
opportunity to prove that he was a real king of 
diamonds. The boys were already drawing up their 
base-ball plans, and had our friend booked to pitch 
the first game. 

Fred resumed his studies at the parochial high- 
school with Louis. Fortunately they were in the same 
course as sophomores; and, gloriously, their desks 
were together. Previously, Louis used to be the leader 
of the class; not that he was over-much in love with 
Latin and Geometry, but the Creator had placed a very 
generous spoonful of gray matter in his skull, and 
knowledge came to him without great effort. Though 
he did very well, he had the ability to do very much 


8o 


THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


better; and Fred’s shining success stimulated him. 
For, the very first month they were in school together, 
our friend rose to much prominence, with an aver- 
age three per cent, higher than the highest Louis ever 
achieved. “It must be great to have all your brains !” 
congratulated Louis, shaking his “brother’s” hand 
warmly and sincerely. “You have twice as much as I 
have,” said Fred, simply and frankly, “but you work 
less than half as hard.” 

“Oh, what’s the use of hard work?” yawned Louis. 
“The very word makes me feel like falling on my little 
feather-bed, rolling in the quilts, and saying ‘Good 
night/ Have a chocolate caramel, Fred; here.” 

But Fred saw a chance to do his pal some good in 
a quiet way, and he did not let the opportunity slip by. 

“That was a rather foolish question, Louis, ‘What’s 
the use of hard work?’ ” he declared, smiling. “Now, 
wasn’t it?” 

Louis admitted that maybe it was — and maybe it 
wasn’t. He didn’t see nor care. All he knew at present 
was that the chocolate caramels were fine, and wouldn’t 
Fred have another? 

Fred was not discouraged at the lad’s light mood. 

“Say, Louis,” he asked, “what are we here on earth 
for? To take things easy, enjoy ourselves, have a 
good time?” 

“Well, no; I think life is a little more serious than 
that.” 

“You bet it is! Each and every one of us fellows 
has a special work to do before death comes along, 
and nobody else can do that special work but the one 


“GOD IS LOVE 1 


81 


God has chosen. You and I were created by God 
to do a particular thing on earth. He whispers to us 
just what it is, and we must listen with our hearts 
until we are sure of what He is saying, and then it’s 
up to us to struggle for the goal with all our might 
and main. That is my idea of a vocation, and Father 
David says it is correct. Have you ever listened to 
God speaking to your heart, Louis, and telling you 
what He wants you to make out of your life?” 

Louis was plainly interested, and looked earnestly 
into his adopted brother’s eyes. 

“No; have you, Fred?” 

“Yes, I know what I want to be; so I’m going to 
pull my oars in that direction for all I’m worth. You 
haven’t set your goal yet, Louis, and that’s why you’re 
drifting lazily around. Can’t you see?” 

“Yes; I think I can. But what is it you are going 
to be, Fred? I’d like to be whatever you are.” 

“If God is willing,” added Fred. 

“Well, that’s what I mean, old boy. What are you 
going to be, anyhow?” 

“Well, there is so much sorrow in the world — I’ve 
seen and felt some of it — that I’d like to mend a few 
broken hearts. I want to do good for others — spend 
my life like Christ spent His. I want to be a priest.” 

“Oh !” exclaimed Louis in reverence and awe. He 
bowed his head a few minutes and was silent. When 
he looked up, his countenance was bright and manly. 

“Say, Fred,” he cried, seizing our friend’s hand, 
“you may not believe it, but just now I did hear — or 


82 


THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


rather feel — something here.” He placed a hand on 
his breast. 

“It told me what to be. It must have been God’s 
voice, the voice of vocation, like you said.” 

“What did it tell you, Louis?” 

“To be a priest.” 

The next month the averages of both boys were a 
tie. 

Louis had taken on a seriousness and strength of 
character that thrilled his mother, and made both Fred 
and Father David proud. Not that he didn’t love 
sports as much as ever, but he learned to like his books 
more. Latin and Geometry no longer seemed silly to 
him. He was studying with a purpose. He had work 
to do in life. He wanted to be somebody. 

Once a week, Father David would take the two lads 
up to his room in the rectory, and give them a heart- 
to-heart talk on their future. Louis was strong for 
going to the foreign missions and offering himself as a 
toothsome bit to the cannibals in Africa, or presenting 
himself to the pitiless- head-hunters of the South Sea 
Islands, or at least tasting some of the woes of the 
wonderful little Theophane Venard in China. Fred 
was much attracted to the austerities of the Trappist 
Order, to the hardships of the Negro missions of the 
South, and the Indian missions of the West ; in short, 
to every difficulty which our American priesthood en- 
dures. But Father David only smiled. He knew how 
to distinguish a real vocation from youthful enthu- 
siasm. He felt that God intended these two boys for the 
secular clergy and that Boston College was the place 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


83 


for them to go, after finishing up at High School. He 
had a quiet talk with Madame Pastorinni on the 
matter, and she assured him that it would be her honor 
as well as delight to defray all the expenses of Fred’s 
education, just the same as if he were her own Louis. 
The lad’s future seemed assured. 

Each day brought further blessing. And Fred, who 
loved Longfellow, often found himself pondering the 
poet’s thought : 

“Down the dark future, through long generations, 

The echoing sounds grow fainter and then cease; 

And like a bell, with solemn sweet vibrations, 

I hear once more the voice of Christ say ‘Peace !’ ” 


84 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


CHAPTER IX. 

His First Morning In Boston. 

L ITTLE JOE woke early his first morning in the 
Billings household, and woke with a gnawing in 
his heart. He felt like a bird in a cage. He sat up 
and blinked. 

The room was as gloomy as it was shabby. A yellow 
roller curtain, half hanging off its stick, covered the 
window and mercifully kept the morning light from 
showing just how dirty the place really was. In one 
corner, on a couch with only three legs, the awful 
Billings himself lay snoring like a saw-mill. His face, 
bristly with five days’ growth of beard, resembled 
the skin of the “fretful porcupine.” 

Hannah was stretched on the floor, covered with a 
tattered, grimy quilt, reaching from her feet up to her 
nose; and her mouse-colored hair — what there was 
of it — spread itself over a much soiled pillow. Joe 
himself occupied a bed on a couple of chairs where 
the woman, the night before, had spread a few old 
garments to make it “soft” for the “little darlin’.” 

Joe took in his surroundings. He had been dream- 
ing of his mother and Fred, and the clean cottage back 
in the peaceful village. If that dream could only have 
lasted forever! 

But still, he was better off to-day than yester-day. 
His gaze rested on the poor woman who, in spite of all 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


85 


too many defects, had a mother’s heart. She was his 
friend, and would protect him from that black-faced 
ogre, over there. Just as “Jack of the Bean Stalk,” 
he had won the saving pity of the giant’s wife. He 
had much to be thankful for. 

From his sleeping guardian, Mrs. Billings, he glanced 
over to the frightful Sam. The pale light from the 
window fell right on the man’s person. He had not 
bothered to undress the night before, but sprawled 
himself on the couch, just as he was, with only a light 
shawl over him. Mrs. Billings was right when she said 
that the nearest he ever got to working was taking off 
his shoes at night; and she might have added that he 
seldom did even that. 

Rarely did Sam part with any article of dress until 
it parted with him. 

Little Joe, from his queer bed, gazed with 
fascination. It seemed impossible that such a big 
horrible creature could be afraid of the skinny woman 
on the floor. But, after last night, he certainly was. 
Joe asked himself — if Billings was afraid of a woman, 
why should he (Joe) be afraid of Billings? 

Just than the child noticed that a shiny something 
was partly sticking out of the man’s right trouser- 
pocket. It looked familiar. Yes — it must be! — his 
mother’s cross. Billings, he thought, must have stolen 
it from Fred. 

Down from the chairs he crept, and tip-toed over to 
the sleeper. The cross must be got back ! It belonged 
to his sweet mother, and it was a sin for that wicked 
man to have it. 


86 


THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


Softly he put his hand in Billings’ pocket; his little 
fingers fastened around the precious object. He was 
drawing it out slowly, slowly, when — Billings awoke ! 

A curse blazed on the fellow’s lips and he sprang to 
his feet, seizing our little friend by the throat — a very 
soft and tender throat, into which the cruel fist sank 
as easily as into clay. The boy could utter only one 
cry. The fist stifled the second. 

“I’ll teach you to cut such capers, little rogue !” Bill- 
ings growled, like the beast he was. “I’ll teach you to 
rob me !” With his left hand he dealt the child a sting- 
ing blow on the head. 

But that was as far as he got. Without warning, a 
frying-pan came swiftly sailing through the air. It 
was well aimed. It shot directly at Billings’ forehead 
— and hit. 

He threw little Joe far from him and let out a bellow 
of pain. His wife had flung off the quilt and was 
standing up, trembling in wrath. The boy’s cry had 
wakened her and her practised arm had done the rest. 

“Didn’t I tell you never to lay a hand on that boy ?” 
she shrieked, darting at him and digging her claw-like 
fingers into his scalp. “Didn’t I ?” 

The coward fell to his knees. He was absolutely 
powerless in her hands. “I — I didn’t mean to hurt 
him, Hannah,” he spluttered. “But the kid had his 
fingers in my pocket and I had to stop him from rob- 
bin’ me.” 

“If the child was robbin’ you, Sam Billings,” 
snapped Hannah grimly, “it’s a safe bet that he was 
only tryin’ to get back something you took from him.” 



— a very soft and tender throat, into which the cruel fist 
sank as easily as into clay. 




























































































. 












. t ■ 






































































“GOD IS LOVE” 


89 


“I was, I was,” came a small, weak voice from the 
corner. Joe lay huddled there, where the man had 
hurled him. “He stole my mama’s silver cross and I 
wanted it back again. It’s in his pocket. My mama’s 
name is on it.” 

Billings would have pawned the article the night 
before, but had met a few of his old companions and 
forgotten his intention over the foaming glasses. He 
now deeply regretted his delay, for he knew what was 
coming. 

“Hand it over, man,” was the prompt command of 
his gentle spouse. “It belongs to little Joe, and it’s 
nobody else’s from today on, see !” 

Obediently, but with a face twisted with disappoint- 
ment, Billings drew forth the object and gave it to her. 

“Come here, Joe, and get your prize,” she called to 
the child. The boy tried to stand up and run to her, 
but Billings’ brutal treatment had hurt his young body 
severely. The little legs refused to hold him. He fell 
back to the floor. 

Hannah’s temper became a tempest at the sight. 
She was too wrathful for words. Automatically 
grabbing the old reliable broom-stick, she suddenly 
leaped forward and rained down blows on Billings’ 
head. He yelled like mad, but she only beat him the 
harder. Indeed her weapon would have suceeded in 
turning him into a corpse or a jelly, had he not 
managed to get nearer and nearer the door. When 
she was poising her arm for the worst assault of all, 
he fortunately found the knob, turned it, and in a 
twinkling was flying down the stairs, hatless. He 


qo 


THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


slipped in the middle of the flight, and rolled to the 
bottom. 

Hannah could hear the thud, but it didn’t trouble 
her in the least. “I hope he has killed himself — the 
monster !” she breathed, banging the door and turning 
to Joe. 

“The low-down, out-and-out, ugly old blackguard !” 
she further commented, adjusting her dress. 

Joe lay without a word — a trembling little heap in 
the corner. 

The woman’s ire at Sam died down to purest pity 
and sympathy for the child, as she stood and looked. 
She stooped and gathered him up in her arms tenderly. 
His eyes, told her his thanks. Then he fainted. 

“Poor boy !” groaned the woman. “I’d like to slash 
that big black Billings for doing this, so I would! I 
ought to’ve used the flat-iron instead of the broom ! If 
he dares to show his face around here again, I’m going 
to do something desp’rate, I will !” 

For the next ten minutes, her hands were busy rub- 
bing vaseline on the child’s black and blue flesh and 
pouring water down his throat. And her mind was as 
active as her fingers. 

“Billings is as big a brute as a good-fer-nothin’,” 
she reasoned, “and he’ll abuse this child whenever he 
catches him, with me not around. I’m sick of that 
loafer anyway. He’s as much use as a lawn-mower 
in winter. I think I’ll strike out for myself and the 
boy. It’s the best thing to do. As long as I’m in 
Boston, Sam will keep cornin’ around and he’ll never 
do any decent work as long as he has a place to sleep 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


9i 


and eat that don’t cost him a cent. He’d better learn 
to shift for himself, just like I myself have always 
had to do. I’m goin’ to New York; that’s what I’m 
goin’ to do, and I’ll carry Joe along with me. The cops 
there won’t ever take the child away from me, and 
there’s a chance that they might swoop down on me 
anytime here. I love this little one, and I’m goin’ to 
keep him — keep him good and clean, like I’m sure his 
own mother did. 

“He’ll do me a lot of good, too. Just from havin’ 
the care of him, I already feel as though I want to be 
a decent and respectable woman. 

“That Sam — the old mud-scow! — has dragged me 
down pretty low, but I think this little angel can lift 
me up again. Sam would make a young villain out of 
the boy, but I’ll keep him an angel ; and the God that’s 
in heaven — I wish I knew something about Him — may 
bless me.” 

She took up the silver cross from the floor, where it 
had dropped, and examined it. On the centre, in 
graceful, flowing letters, was inscribed the maiden 
name of the child’s mother, “Norah A. Tulley,” and 
the beautiful sentence, “God is Love.” 

The cross brought a thrill of religious sentiment to 
the woman’s heart. “I bet Joe is a little Catholic,” she 
told herself. “Father ought to have been a Catholic — 
and I guess I would have had much more respect for 
him if he had stuck to his religion and didn’t give it up 
to please mother. She didn’t believe much of any- 
thing, and we kids were never given a chance to go: to 
Sunday-School. I remember how I used to walk up 


Q2 


THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


and down in front of the Roman Catholic Church on 
Sunday mornings, and peek through the open door at 
the high altar with the cross, and laces, and lighted 
candles, and look at the priest walkin’ around in 
colored clothes like a fine lady, and hear the nice music 
and singin’. I wanted to join the church then. I 
wonder if it’s too late now. Well, we’ll see.” 

Joe opened his eyes, and squinted. 

“How do you feel now ?” she asked. 

“Hungry,” he promptly replied. 

“Good!” she cried, appreciating the healthy sign. 
*T11 have a nice breakfast ready for you in a jiffy.” 

She threw a shawl over her head and hurried from 
the room. 

In a few minutes, she was back, her arms filled with 
packages. 

“We’ll make a good meal, Joe — the last we’ll ever 
eat in this dump,” she told the boy. “I’m goin’ to take 
you away, where you’ll never see that brute of a Bill- 
ings again. Ain’t you glad ?” 

“Am I?” the little fellow said, smiling happily at 
her. “I’m so glad that I don’t know how to say how 
glad I am !” 

“Joe,” she asked, peeling a big luscious orange for 
him, “are you a Catholic?” 

“Yes, ma’am. I’m a Roman Cath-lic, just like Fred 
and papa and mamma. And I’ve been bap — bap — 
baptized — that’s what I’ve been, too.” 

“Who is God, Joe?” 

“God is the creator of heaven and earth and of all 
things.” 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


93 


“Do you love him, child ?” 

The boy’s great eyes stretched open with surprise. 
“Course I do; don’t you?” said he. “Why everyone 
loves their father, don’t they ?” 

“Yes, child; if he’s a good father.” 

“Well, God is a good Father. Mama said He gives 
us every single thing we have, and He must be awful 
good to do that, mustn’t He ?” 

“Yes, yes, child.” Some of the juice of the orange 
seemed to have squirted into her eye. She blinked. 

“Will you tell me all you know about your Father, 
sometime ?” she asked. 

“He’s your Father, too,” corrected Joe. “Mama 
says He’s everybody’s Father — just like you say in the 
prayer that I say every night and morning. Want to 
hear it ?” 

“Yes, Joe.” 

The child recited the fair, inspiring words which 
the Savior Himself taught the Apostles : “Our 
Father Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name.” 
The woman listened with pleasure to the melodious 
voice. She drank in every word, and her heart, hard- 
ened with work, worry, discord and hate, softened to- 
ward the Father to whom little Joe prayed. 

“Each day, Joe, you’ll tell me something more about 
Our Father, won’t you?” she asked gently — more 
gently than she had spoken for many a long day. 
“You’ll teach me how to pray that lovely prayer, won’t 
you ?” 

“Course I will. This orange tastes fine, and please, 
ma’am, I’d like another one if you don’t mind.” 


94 


THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


Smiling fondly on him all the while, she peeled three 
more of the golden balls. The child had captured her 
heart from the start ; he was now conquering her soul. 
He was beginning an apostolate that made the Blessed 
smile in heaven. 

After breakfast, Mrs. Billings fastened the silver 
cross on his neck and tucked it in beneath his little 
undershirt. Then she washed his face and polished 
his shoes. Next she tidied herself a bit, threw a few 
objects into an old suit-case, and was ready for New 
York. 

It was the last Sam Billings saw of the old nest. 
When he sneaked up-stairs that night, he found the 
door locked; and the abundant land-lady, waddling 
down the corridor, with a jingling bunch of keys, 
warned him to get out of the building as quick as his 
legs could carry him, or she’d “sic” a policeman at him. 

The next day, he was arrested for intoxication, and 
spent the following six months as a forced guest of 
the State. He was too great a lover of bars for his 
own good ; so in prison they gave him full and plenty 
of his desire, the only difference being that here the 
bars were of solid iron and boasted no bottles. 


“GOD IS LOVE’ 


95 


CHAPTER X. 


The Flight Of Years. 

“Time, as he passes us, has a dove’s wing, 

Unsoil’d and swift, and of a silken sound.” 

HE soft wing of Time now comes into our story 



A and carries it forward nine years. Joe is hence- 
forth to be our hero. As for Fred, we knew his 
thoughts and wishes, and saw that he would turn them 
into realities. We have had no doubts nor fears for 
him ; but for the young brother, sunk in the depths of 
the city, misgivings were just. 

What did Joe do during those nine years? Not much 
of anything, except sprout. As we now see him, he is 
a full-grown lad of fifteen — just the age of his brother 
Fred when this tale began; but his clothes are rather 
shabby, and there’s the independent toss to his shapely 
head, which boys of the street early achieve. He is 
without a home now. Mrs. Billings had worked hard 
to support him, sewing or washing from gray dawn to 
grim dusk, in the miserable little tenement overhang- 
ing the noisy East River ; but at last her health gave 
away and they carried her out of Joe’s life to a hospital. 
He had learned to love the woman — she was so per- 
sistently kind, gentle, generous and self-sacrificing with 
him. And her love for Joe, one of the noblest senti- 
ments that ever warmed her heart, had made a new 
being of her. She had earnestly wanted to be a 


96 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 

Catholic, but was too afraid to approach a priest. 
Why? She could not say. “Some day — some day,” 
she kept whispering* to her conscience. And now she 
was lying at death’s door in a free ward. Was it too 
late ? 

She had done her poor and ignorant best to bring 
Joe up well. She had warned him again and again to 
be good, and sent him to a parochial school. But, un- 
fortunately, she gave the boy too much free rein. He 
could do exactly as he pleased, with full surety that she 
would not have the strength of character to scold him. 
In her foolish fondness, she would pamper his stomach 
with dainties which she could ill-afford to buy, and 
then go hungry herself to give him pocket-money. If 
her affection, so true and strong, had only been wiser, 
Joe would have grown up a much better boy; but Sam 
Billings, by teaching him to beg and steal, had planted 
little seeds of evil in the childish heart, which Mrs. 
Billings’ attitude did not at all serve to destroy. And 
the soil of the slums was just the kind to coax those 
specks of vice into vigor. 

The poor woman never realized that the child, who 
came like sunshine into her dreary life, was growing 
up bad ; that the boy whose innocence and attractive- 
ness had been daily making her a better woman, was 
himself becoming the prey of sin. When she thought 
he was safe at school, he was really roaming the 
wharves with ragamuffins of his own age, pestering 
peddlers, or rooting at ball-games. 

Not that he had as yet been fully conquered by the 
city ; in fact there was still so much good in him that 



Joe spent his time rooting at the Ball Game. 





























* • 































































■ 







































































GOD IS LOVE 5 


99 


his young scamps of comrades occasionally twitted him 
on being a “saint/' Many a time he stopped up the 
foul mouth of a tough youth with a blow from his 
strong fist; always he championed the cause of the 
smaller and weaker boys ; and never did he forget to 
say his morning and evening “Our Father/' But for 
all that, he was “in" with the wrong gang of East-side 
lads ; and while he actually succeeded in making many 
of them better, they in turn were steadily making him 
worse. He was slipping, unconsciously but surely, 
into the pit. 

The worst thing that could have happened to him 
was his forced separation from the woman who had 
tried to be a mother to him. It left him without a real 
friend in the world, and rendered him absolutely care- 
less about himself. 

Mrs. Billings had worked up to the last minute, and 
fallen senseless over her sewing-machine. They car- 
ried her unconscious to the hospital. She was unable 
to give her boy any parting words of advice, which 
might have helped him. And when he went to visit 
her, a nurse- with a face as sharp and forbidding as a 
razor, informed him curtly that “the woman was going 
to die, and was already so far gone that no one but a 
priest or a minister — whichever she wanted — could see 
her." Sadly the boy turned away, his eyes stung with 
hot tears ; and he didn’t come back. 

He was alone in the world, with his living to make. 

Joe's head had received as little Christian training 
as his heart, ever since he was six years old. He now 
knew much more about base-ball than catechism. He 


100 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


could tell you that Hans Wagner, the short stop of the 
Pirates, was at that time forty-three years old and in 
1916 was batting harder than he had ever done in 1912 ; 
that Ty Cobb joined the Tigers in 1905 when he was 
just a “greenie” from a class “C” league. In fine, he 
had the history of Plank, Bender, Johnson, Coombs, 
Red Ames, Reulbach and all the other then glittering 
stars of the diamond thoroughly mastered. But all 
this knowledge was a rather useless equipment for a 
good and successful life. As he walked away from the 
hospital, sorrow for himself mingled with his grief 
for Mrs. Billings. He regretted that he hadn't taken 
better advantage of his opportunities and become more 
of a credit to himself and her. He wanted to amount 
to something in life. He wanted to rise out of the 
wretched conditions in which fortune had placed him. 

“But what's the use?” he sighed to himself, shrug- 
ging his shoulders. “There’s nobody in the world that 
would give a snap of the fingers for me. My own 
brother Fred went and abandoned me when I was 
only a helpless little kid ; and now she's gone, too. No- 
body cares for me. What’s the use?” 

He gave a hard short laugh. 

Somebody slapped him on the back. He stopped 
and looked around. There was red-headed Timmy 
Shanley, better known as Brick ; a youth with a thin, 
freckled face, slit by a big red mouth. The teeth which 
Brick lacked (by reason of certain snappy street 
contests) were too numerous to mention. His torn 
checkered cap was drawn down so far over the side of 
his egg-shaped skull that it nearly blotted out his right 


“GOD IS LOVE ! 


ioi 


eye. He was flat-chested and round-shouldered. His 
fingers were dyed yellow with nicotine. 

“Wot you laughin’ to yerself for, Joe?” he desired 
to know. “Wot’s the joke? Let a fellow in on it. Why 
I ain’t cracked a grin since I saw Charlie Chaplin in 
‘Shanghied,’ I ain’t!” 

“Well, there’s none coming to you now,” gloomed 
Joe. “I’m down and out, Brick. Haven’t a soul in 
the world to give a hang whether I’m capital-punished 
or not. My mother’s in the hospital, and they won’t 
let me see her. She’s at death’s door, and they’ll push 
her through all right — the ice-hearted wretches ! I’m 
blue, Brick. I don’t give a darn what becomes of me, 
I don’t ! I’m ready for anything.” 

The last was an unfortunate remark. Satan must 
have inspired it. Brick’s face lit up with unholy 
interest. 

“Ready to do anything, Joe?” he asked. “Well, 
then, you’re just the guy wot I want. Look !” 

He pulled forth the empty pockets of his trousers. 
“I’m down and out meself. Not a cent to me name. 
Now, Joe, the only way to get money in New York is — 
to get it. You and me need a good time to cheer us 
up, and the only way to have it is by gettin’ money to 
give it to us, see !” 

“I got you. Go on.” 

“You got heavy fists, Joe, and I got light fingers. 
Nice combination, ain’t it! Let’s go in partnership fer 
a night.” 

Joe’s conscience moved. He knew what Brick was 
driving at, but he was too down-cast to bother much. 


102 


THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


He silenced the small voice within him. ‘Tm on, 
Brick,” he yielded simply. 

‘Tut it there, kiddo !” Shanley thrust forth his hand 
and grasped Joe’s. “Come on. I’ll lead you to the 
right scenery.” 

Night was about ready to drop its sable curtain over 
Manhattan. The huge buildings were sprouting lights 
which glowed golden into the glossy black water of the 
harbor. Brooklyn Bridge looked like an iron skeleton 
— a passage-way for ghosts across the glimmering sky. 

The two youths picked their way to a street in the 
lower central* part of the city, and hid themselves in 
an enclosure between two stone structures. 

Six o’clock came on, and the business houses poured 
forth their great black streams of humanity along both 
sides of the street — tired throngs, hastening to home 
and supper and rest. 

The boys, from their place of concealment, watched 
the flowing crowd : Brick, with interest ; Joe, with dis- 
gust. The latter hated the city just now; down deep 
in his soul, he was longing for those days of long ago — 
ages ago, it seemed — when he had his own mother, 
father and brother to love and cherish, protect and 
direct him; when he lived innocent and care-free in 
the wonderful little home which had faded into a 
dream. 

Brick drew a handful of peanuts from his coat- 
pocket. He had stolen them from the push-cart of an 
Italian who, at the time, was more interested in dis- 
cussing the European War with a swarthy-skinned 
countryman than in watching his wares. Joe had his 


GOD IS LOVE” 


103 


suspicions, but asked no questions. Together the mis- 
guided lads munched their only food. 

“We’ll have better than this by nine o’clock to-night,” 
promised Brick cheerfully. Joe did not answer. His 
thoughts were far away. 

At eight, the lower part of the town was pretty well 
deserted — a city of the dead. Only here and there a 
ruby light flickered high in the big, dark buildings. 

Down the street where the boys were hiding, came 
a light foot-fall. Brick poked out his head and observed 
the approaching stranger — a slender gentleman, in 
a stylish gray suit. As he came nearer, he coughed. 

“Ready!” hoarsely whispered Brick to Joe. “He’s 
our man ! He will be easy. Hear the cough ! He’s got 
the ‘con.’ Pipe the clothes — he’s got the cash. Sh . — 
Now!” 

The foolish lads sprang out like a pair of young 
demons at the man. They had seen the thing done in 
moving-pictures before, and flattered themselves that 
they, too, could effect a neat job easily. 

Joe aimed what he deemed a splendid blow at the 
man’s heart. It struck all right, and the stranger, 
buckling forward without a cry, fell on the sidewalk. 

“Good boy !” approved Brick. “That was easy 
work. Me for the pockets !” He dropped on his knees 
and applied his nimble fingers to the man’s clothing. 

It was then that Joe’s sharp eye saw something 
which made him shake. The person, apparently 
knocked out by the sudden assault, was actually, but 
quietly, drawing a revolver from his right hip-pocket. 
He had not been overcome at all, but only pretended. 


104 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


Brick, busy at the left coat-pocket, did not notice the 
sly movement of the victim’s, right hand. In a flash, 
the man twisted around, seized Brick’s throat, jumped 
to his feet, and held his gun cocked in his right fist. 

Joe, terror-stricken, took to his heels. “Stop!” the 
stranger cried. “Stop, if you don’t want a bullet in 
you !” 

The boy paid no heed, except to run the faster. 

When some distance away, he looked back ; and 
finding that he was not being pursued, he slackened 
his pace a little, but his heart kept throbbing wildly 
and his breath came short. 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


105 


CHAPTER XI. 

In The Shadows. 

J OE walked fast and far. A church loomed up in 
his way, dark and solemn. But through the mas- 
sive open door-way, he could see the inviting flicker 
of the sanctuary-lamp. Christ who lived, longed and 
died for men was in there, waiting — 

A desire to enter seized the lad; but the realization 
of his petty wrong-doings and his latest attempted 
crime held him back. He was about to turn away, 
when a sentence from one of the very few sermons he 
had ever heard wandered into his mind : “Christ loves 
the sinner as much as He hates the sin.” It gave him 
courage. He slowly ascended the stone steps, walked 
softly down the side aisle, and knelt at the marble 
railing. 

As he prayed, his surroundings seemed to fade 
away. He felt that he was alone with the Savior, 
telling Him all his troubles. And Christ, the tender- 
hearted, listened, understood, forgave, consoled, and 
directed. There in the darkness, pierced by the ruby 
star of the lamp, was born in Joe’s heart a wish, a 
determination, to flee from the paths of sin and enter 
the straight and narrow way of Christian virtue. He 
would try to secure a respectable position in some 
store ; he could get a room in another part of the city 
where he would no longer come in contact with the 


io6 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


gang. He could and would attend Mass regularly. 
After all, there was One who cared what became of 
him, and loved him and would always be his Friend: 
Christ in the tabernacle. 

It was Saturday night. Joe had thought the churcn 
empty; but in the deep peaceful shadows, many poor 
souls like himself were praying to the Man of Sor- 
rows Who ever comforts aching hearts and gathers 
together the broken strands of Hope. 

Three priests were hearing confessions. Joe leit 
the railing and sought a pew near one of the boxes. 
When his turn came, he entered the confessional, not 
without a certain fear and shrinking. But the Father, 
young and just ordained, was so sympathetic and gentle 
that the boy was almost immediately at ease. It 
seemed to Joe as though the confessor had known him 
forever. He spoke not like a superior but as a brother 
— an elder brother. 

After the telling of sins and the act of contrition, 
the clergyman gave the lad a short talk. It would 
have been fuller, but several others were waiting to be 
heard. 

“My son,” said he, “never again allow a loss in this 
life to imperil your eternal salvation. Never despair. 
Remember that Christ’s glorious resurrection came 
after his terrible crucifixion. It is the same with 
mankind ; glory follows suffering. You have a bitter 
loss to endure ; but trials like yours overtake everyone. 
There is no Christianity without a cross. Once, when 
a boy like you, I, too, was called upon by God to suffer 
a separation from the one I loved best on this earth. 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


107 


Like you, I despaired for a time; but a good and 
holy priest showed me how to look on the right side, 
by teaching me that the way to Heaven is the way of 
the Cross, and that God often permits evil only for our 
good. I want to do for you, my son, what that priest 
did for me. Will you come to see me at the rectory 
some time?” 

“I will, Father,” promised Joe. “But not until I’m 
on a respectable footing,” he told himself. “Not until 
I have a good job and good clothes. I won’t be fit to 
call on % a clergyman till then.” 

Unfortunately the priest did not know how Joe was 
qualifying his promise. Expecting to have a visit from 
the boy in the near future, he closed the slide with an 
ardent “God Bless you !” 

Joe returned to the altar-railing and spent another 
half-hour there. A sense of happiness filled him. His 
soul felt purified, and God seemed near. And the 
priest 

What was it about the Father that appealed so 
strongly to him ? It was not the face ; he had got only 
the faintest impression of the features, because the 
confessional was so dark. The voice? Yes — that was 
it! Joe had heard it before. Where — when? Some- 
time in the long ago. He tried to think. The perplexity 
began to prick like a pin in his brain. 

The sexton lit a few of the electric bulbs that dangled 
from the side arches of the church. 

Joe rose to go ; and, while he was walking down the 
aisle, the glow from one of the lights fell directly on 
his up-turned face. 


io8 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


The priest in the confessional could see through 
the grating of his box into the body of the church. 
He chanced to look out just as Joe was stepping under 
the white rays. He started ! 

The lad’s face! — it was like — 

“But pshaw!” said the priest to himself. “There 
must be many in New York who resemble little Joe. 
God forgive me for getting distracted in this holy 
place !” 

And the penitent who was being heard, wondered 
why Father’s voice trembled when he requested that 
the last sentence be repeated. 

But the brothers indeed had met! Father Carlton 
had cleansed the soul of his own flesh and blood in the 
saving grace of the Sacrament. Fred who had wanted 
to be a father to little Joe in an earthly sense, was now 
Father to him in a sublime and spiritual manner. 
Though Fred knew it not, he had saved his own brother 
from the slough of sin into which he was sinking. 
Though Joe knew it not, he had been restored for ten 
wonderful minutes to the elder brother from whom 
he had been separated for nine years. 


GOD IS LOVE” 


109 


CHAPTER XII. 

Concerning Fred. 

F ATHER Carlton’s progress to the priesthood had 
been continuous and rapid, though be-set with 
those trials and troubles which develop manhood and 
teach “how sublime a thing it is to suffer and be 
strong.” Madame Pastorinni had married the Doctor, 
not only because she learned to esteem him for his 
kind interest in Fred, but because she wanted the two 
boys to have the advantage of a father’s training and 
care. But shortly after the wedding, the surgeon shed 
his falsities, put a firm and artful hand on his wife’s 
possessions, and refused to lay out a cent on Louis and 
Fred’s clerical education. 

Nothing daunted, however, the boys secured sum- 
mer positions and earned enough to pay their way 
through college and seminary. It was hard sailing, 
but the young men agreed that they had won in expe- 
rience what they lost in fortune. 

During their last year as seminarians, the Doctor 
almost met death in a train wreck. Fred and Louis 
obtained permission from their superiors to visit him 
in his illness. He was so struck by their Christian 
kindness and concern for him, who had been so un- 
reasonably mean to them, that he vowed to do anything 
they wished. 

“Be good to mother,” was all they asked. 

Rosa had grown white-haired from the worries of 


no THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


the years. But her husband, true to the promise he 
made the young men, now earnestly tried to woo the 
old smile back to her lips and the bloom to her cheeks. 

He succeeded ; for he discovered that he really loved 
her, and she, too, learned that it was not hard to return 
his affection. She forgave the past freely, and to- 
gether they tried to forget it. 

The future was bright. In June, the rare month of 
sunshine and roses, Fred and Louis were ordained, 
and enriched husband and wife with their first bless- 
ing. A few joyous weeks flew by in the Doctor’s 
mansion ; and then the young Levites had to depart for 
their fields of labor. 

'‘God knows that I don’t begrudge you to Him,” said 
Rosa on the day of parting, tears glittering in her 
eyes. “But there will always be a big aching spot 
here.” She pressed her hand to her bosom. “While 
you both were studying, I felt you were still mine. 
But now you are all God’s. I am lonely. If we — the 
Doctor and I — only had some one to cherish !” 

“You have given everything to God, dear mother,” 
murmured Father Louis, “and He will not be outdone 
in generosity. He will give you something or someone 
in return, to make you and father happy.” 

“And we shall pray that the favor come soon,” 
added Father Fred. “You have been a true mother 
to me, and I should give anything in the world to see 
you perfectly happy.” 

She smiled fondly through her tears at son and 
foster-son. 

Louis departed for a town in Vermont; and Fred 


GOD IS LOVE” 


iii 


was appointed to a parish in Boston. In the course of 
the summer, however, he was sent to New York. 
Though the mission with which he was intrusted by 
the Cardinal was not weighty, time was required for 
its disposal. Father Carlton was destined to a three- 
weeks stay in the metropolis. But, full of priestly 
zeal, he secured faculties and assisted the clergy of the 
rectory at which he was stopping, in their arduous 
ministry. Not only did he administer the Sacraments, 
but also devoted much time to visiting the poor. 

The day after he unknowingly heard his own 
brother’s confession, he found his steps turning toward 
one of the free hospitals. When he entered the in- 
stitution, a nurse glided down the cool corridor, placed 
a hand lightly on his arm, and whispered: “Father, 
I think you are just in time to do some good. There 
is a woman in Ward io, calling for a priest. She 
is dying. We didn’t expect her to live out the night, 
but somehow her strength has temporarily rallied, and 
she is able to express herself.” 

This was not the razor-faced woman who sharply 
drove Joe away, but a pleasant little Irish miss with a 
freckled, tilted nose and dancing, blue eyes. 

She led him to the ward, showed him the patient, 
drew a screen around the bed, and then slipped away 
as gently as a breeze. 

The sick woman, we already know. Yet the round 
eyes, soft with an infinite longing, hardly seemed to be 
those which used to snap fire at the worthless Sam 
Billings. The thin withered hand that lay like an 
autumn leaf on the white coverlet, certainly did not 


1 12 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 

resemble the capable fist which once violently wielded 
broom-sticks and flat-irons. But for all that, here 
indeed was Hannah herself. 

Father Carlton sat beside her. She gazed pleadingly 
into his face, as she spoke; “Father, I want to be 
saved; I want to be a Catholic/’ Her voice was so 
weak that he had to bend close to hear. 

“How long has this been your desire, my good wo- 
man?” he asked. 

“For — for — nine years.” 

“But why have you delayed so long in seeking to 
attain it?” 

“I — I don’t know just how it was, Father. But I 
was selfish. I had a little boy with me that my hus- 
band picked up in the country one winter’s night. T 
loved the child ; and he, in his innocent way, brought 
me to love goodness and to want to be a Catholic. But, 
all the time I’ve had him, something has been tellin’ 
me that I did wrong not to try to find out his relatives ; 
and while I felt that way, it seems as though I just 
couldn’t fully turn to God as I ought. It seemed like 
I was stealin’ the boy from those who had more right 
to him than me. 

“Sam, my husband, was a no-account man, and the 
suspicion that he himself may have stolen the child 
kept stingin’ my brain. Yet I never even looked into 
his story, but held on to little Joe as tight as I could.” 

“Little Joe!” Father Carlton interrupted. “Did you 
say ‘little Joe’?” 

“Yes, Father; that was the boy’s name — ‘Joe’. 
What’s strange about that?” 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


ii3 

“My good woman, I had a brother once — a precious 
little brother, whom I left sleeping in a barn on a 
country-road, one winter’s night. I wanted to hail a 
passing automobile and get the chauffeur to carry the 
boy and me on to the next town. But I was numb and 
sick with the cold. I sank down in the road. The car 
ran over me. When I came to my senses, weeks later, 
I was in a doctor’s house. And I’ve never had — little 
Joe — since.” 

Two scarlet spots burned on the woman’s sunken 
cheeks. The flame of excitement leaped in her eye. 

“Nine years ago !” 

“Then — it must be ! — my little Joe is your brother. 
God !” 

Father Carlton tried to control his emotions. He 
breathed fast, and his hands shook. 

“Where was it your husband found the child — in 
New York or — ” 

Mrs. Billings answered the question before it was 
finished: “In Massachusetts, Father — outside Boston.” 

“It was Joe, my brother Joe !” cried the priest, 
thoroughly convinced. “Where is he, my good woman, 
where is he ?” 

“They must have carried me here unconscious, 
Father. The last I remember was Joe eating his dinner 
over by the window of our tenement in 1409 King 
Street. I — I was workin’ at my sewing machine, when 
something seemed to kind of snap in my old head. 
I — I ain’t seen my Joe since. Can you get him, Father ? 
I just can’t die till I bid him good-bye. Ain’t it 
wonderful — I can’t understand ! that I’m asking Joe’s 


1 14 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 

own great brother to go and get little Joe for me/’ 

A fit of coughing seized and shook her frame. An 
expression of fright suddenly whitened the poor crea- 
ture’s face. “Father, Father,” she cried, “are you — 
are you goin’ to keep me out of Heaven for what I 
done? Father, I wasn’t to blame, honest I wasn’t! 
I wanted a child to love. There was a great big achin’ 
emptiness here” — she thumped her heart with her fist — 
“and it just had to be filled. God gave me a little angel 
of my own once, and then took him away from me. 
So, when Joe came, I held on to him tight! O Father, 
can you blame me? Children are the only joy that 
women like me can have. Don’t you understand? 
I didn’t want to rob you, Father, honest I didn’t! 
You won’t turn your back on me, Father, and keep 
Joe away from me — will you?” 

“Certainly not, my good woman. You have been a 
mother to my brother. He and I will always thank you 
for that. I shall go to Joe and bring him to you. His 
place is by your side.” 

“How good and forgiving you are, Father!” the 
woman murmured, a smile wreathing her bloodless 
lips. “God bless you — bless you!” She grasped his 
hand and fervently pressed her lips on it. 

Father Carlton’s eyes were wet. “Compose your- 
self,” he told her gently, taking his stole out of his 
pocket and laying it across his knees. “I want you 
to turn your mind completely toward God. I want to 
prepare you for Baptism.” 

He spent half an hour instructing her and asking 
questions. By then, she was so exhausted that he felt 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


H5 

he could do no more this time. Consulting with the 
nurses and doctors, he learned that she would live for 
some hours yet ; so he decided to return to the rectory 
and secure what he required for administering the 
Sacraments. Incidentally, he would call at the address 
she had given him and meet the brother for whom his 
affectionate heart had been calling, calling, these nine 
long years. 

“I shall come back shortly, and bring you many con- 
solations,” he assured the woman, lying so still with 
weakness, pain and hope. 

“Bless you, Father!” she breathed, a glow of hap- 
piness shedding itself from her face. “But next to 
my God, I want my Joe. Bring him to me. Father; 
bring him to me, too !” 

Father Fred had never lost his early love for poetry. 
As he hurried from the bedside, some lines from Shel- 
ley. expressive of longing, pleased his memory: 

“The desire of the moth for the star — 

Of the night for the morrow — 

The devotion to something afar 
From the sphere of our sorrow.” 


n6 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


CHAPTER XIII. 


In The Park. 


HERE was peace in Joe’s heart when he left the 



l house of prayer; but a little concern entered 
there, too, when, on slipping his hand into his pocket, 
he found that his earthly riches amounted to twenty- 
five cents. Where could he go for the night? To the 
East-side tenement? No; the place was too full of 
painful memories of the poor woman who was dying 
or dead ; and the neighborhood was too alive with 
dangers. . He would never step into that part of the 
city again. If he did, his old associates would seize 
him, drag him down, and he would be lost ; for, with 
all his new-found determinations, he did not blind 
himself to the fact that he was still weak. 

Battery Park, right at the tip of Manhattan, offers 
attractions to the homeless. Many benches are there, 
and if you get one in time, you can curl up on it, cover 
yourself with newspapers, which are excellent for 
keeping out the chill, and spend an agreeable night 
under the stars. Thousands have favored this sky- 
capped hotel; that night, Joe decided to be one of the 
many. It was not a long walk from the church to his 
open-air lodging. He was lucky enough to secure a 
bench ; for, the intoxicated fellow to whom it belonged 
had rolled off and was snoring with loud contentment 
on the grass, far happier there than if Joe awakened 
him to put him back in his rightful place. So our young 


“GOD IS LOVE’* 


ii 7 

friend had no hesitation about taking the vacant seat. 
A copy of a New York daily lay on the ground. He 
lost no time in arranging it for a blanket. 

The early part of the evening had been warm, but 
a chilliness was now well asserting itself. A breeze 
from the harbor, dotted with boat-lights, blew its 
salty breath in Joe's face. 

Leaning back and stretching out in his rustling suit 
of paper, Joe looked up to the sky, quivering with 
stars. He thought of a line of beauty from “Evan- 
geline," which the teacher had once written on the 
black-board at school: “And in the infinite meadows 
of heaven silently blossomed the stars, the forget- 
me-nots of the angels." Other descriptions, too, re- 
turned to him out of his store of school-memories: 
“A living hymn written in light," and “Those golden 
candles fix’d in heaven’s air !” 

From these fair thoughts his mind swung back to a 
certain night, nine, years ago, when, a little lad, he sat 
huddled in a chair of a speeding train, as far from 
the ugly Sam Billings as possible, and gazed with wet 
eyes up into the living sky, wondering when his terri- 
ble dream would end; and down from the stars had 
come a spirit lady, his real mother, kissing him to 
sleep and whispering that some day he would see his 
brother — some day his trials would cease. How long 
ago that was! Would she come again tonight, if he 
wished and prayed hard enough? 

“O God," he begged, “let her come to me once more ! 
I’m only a boy, walking a rocky road, and I need 
someone to take me by the hand sometimes and show 


ii8 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


me how to stop stumbling. I want my mother. I 
want to be a man, but it’s hard for a fellow to be a 
man unless he has his mother at his side to coach him 
along, or his big brother, or some one else that loves 
him. And I haven’t anyone — only You. Let her come 
to me. Lord, like she did nine years ago. Just for 
tonight! And after that I’ll try to be content alone 
with You.” 

A simple prayer, but it came from the very core of 
a boyish heart ; and God heard it, as He always hears 
such pleas. For as Joe was saying his never-forgot- 
ten “Our Father,” the moon gloriously released itself 
from a fleecy cloud and flooded the sky with silver. 
Out of the gentle light, a woman’s lovely face seemed 
to blossom. She smiled tenderly on Joe, and he knew 
that she was his mother — his real mother. Down from 
the skies she glided like a star-beam. He felt her soft 
arms encircle him and pillow his tired head on her 
bosom. 

Not far off, the elevated trains groaned away into 
the night. Out on the harbor a tug chugged over the 
waters, and a siren shrieked. But in joy, Joe slept, 
and, with the key of sleep, entered “the world of 
silvery enchantment.” 

Early next morning, he awoke. The sun was dazz- 
ling in his eyes. He shifted his head from the rays, 
and said some prayers before he sat up. 

The first fact he noticed was the great number of 
his room-mates in the Battery that night : men, women 
and children. But the sight did not impress him as it 
would a stranger to New York. He had viewed plenty 



He felt her soft arms encircle him and pillow his tired 

head on her bosom. 




“GOD IS LOVE” 


121 


of the woes of the city’s poor, and knew that sleeping 
out-doors was by no means the greatest. However, 
his warm young heart experienced a twinge of pity. 

“I wish I could do something for them,” he sighed, 
“but I guess I’ll never be able. I’m one of them myself, 
and the thing for me to do now, is to try to do some- 
thing for myself. I certainly don’t want to be like 
that poor fellow.” He gazed upon the man who had 
rolled off the bench which he himself was occupying. 
The wretch lay prone on the ground^ face down-ward. 
His clothes were shreds, and a green bottle peeked 
out of his coat-pocket. 

From the unfortunate, Joe’s eye jumped to the sheet 
of newspaper which he had shaken off himself. It had 
columns of “Help Wanted.” Instantly he seized it and 
examined carefully the list of offered positions. Sum- 
mer was well advanced, and many boys who worked 
in the big department stores would be leaving their 
situations to prepare to return to books and studies. 

Yes, sure enough, there was an advertisement for 
boys between fifteen and seventeen, in a first-class 
Broadway establishment — application to be made on 
Monday morning. (The paper was a Saturday 
edition.) 

“Good!” cried Joe, his countenance bursting into 
sunshine, “that is just what I wanted — a position in a 
store. Clean, honest work that will introduce me to 
nice people.” 

His glance wandered from the paper, and the smile 
faded from his lips. The fellow on the ground was 
sitting up, staring wickedly at him. 


1 22 


THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


Joe had seen that face before — nine years before. It 
was branded on his young memory by fear, and he 
could never mistake nor forget it. 

“Huh! So it is you!” the man muttered, a broad 
grin cutting his repulsive countenance in two. “You 
recognize me, so I knows it must be you — kid Joe! 
Well, ain't you glad to see old papa, Joey? — Ain’t 
you ?” 

Joe did not answer. He was overcome with aston- 
ishment and disgust. 

“Where’s Hannah?” the fellow inquired. 

Joe found his voice. “Don’t you ask me any ques- 
tions, Sam Billings,” he cried. “Don’t waste your 
breath; because you are not going to be answered!” 

“Hoity-toity, but sonny’s grown up smart — gosh if 
he ain’t!” sneered the tramp. “Better go calm, kid, 
better go calm!” 

“Aw, calm nothing!” flung back Joe. “You bullied 
me when I was a little shaver, and scared the heart 
out of me, as well as nearly choked me to death. But 
you’ll do nothing like that now, old boy! I’m grown 
up and can look out for No. i.” 

“Don’t be so sure, kid. I can wring your neck now, 
as easily as then, and mebbe I will.” 

“Well, come on and try it. What’s stoppin’ you? 
Scared?” 

Billings had taken on much bloat during nine years. 
He was a big man, but no more solid than a fat toy 
balloon. 

However, the instinct of the bully had not left him. 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


123 


He lumbered to his feet, a dark scowl on his face, and 
dashed a great hairy fist at the boy’s mouth. 

Joe gracefully eluded the blow, and Billings himself 
received a very generous smash in the pit of the stom- 
ach. “Woof !” he bellowed ; and, falling on the bench, 
he gave vent to such a stream of curses that the sleep- 
ers all around were aroused. 

They jumped up and surrounded Billings and Joe. 
The latter was grinning in spite of himself. He en- 
joyed his triumph over his ancient enemy. 

“What’s the trouble here?” one man spoke out. 

“Oh, nothing,” answered Joe, “only the winded 
gentleman on the bench tried to bestow his fist on me, 
and I returned the kindness. He’s some fighter, he 
is.” 

“I got a right to lick that boy,” declared Billings, 
throwing his angry eyes all around the group. “He’s 
my son.” 

“My, but the guy has nerve !” exclaimed Joe. “Why 
he’s about as near to me as China or Adam. I’d most 
certainly commit suicide, if I thought I had a drop of 
his blood in my system.” 

“Ha!” laughed the man who had asked what the 
trouble was. “You’re rather an all right youngster, 
boy, and the old party there looks like the night before 
the Fourth. Don’t blame you for knockin’ a few stars 
out of him.” 

“Don’t get fresh, mister,” frowned Billings. “I got 
other ways of fightin’ besides my fists, I have; and I 
got a good memory, too.” 

“Beat away, old drum-stick. The first time you 


124 


THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


start anything funny with me, the next scene will be 
your funeral, understand?” 

The crowd laughed. Billings looked so ill at ease 
that Joe was almost sorry for him. 

“Well, I must be leavin’ my would-be papa,” he ob- 
served lightly to the group. “I’ve already had more 
than enough of his ten-cent society. Ta, ta, dear long- 
lost dad!” 

Joe tucked his newspaper into his pocket, threw a 
funny look at the discomfited Billings, and proceeded 
to strut out of the park. 

Sam shook his fist at him, and ground his teeth. 
“I’ll get you yet, you snipe !” he warned. 

“Better go calm, kid, better go calm,” quoted Joe, 
glancing over his shoulder with a brilliant smile. 

But, once out of the man’s range, Joe’s mood 
changed. He felt ashamed of himself. It was Sunday 
morning and he should have observed the peace better. 
Of course, he had been overcome by the unexpected 
presence and identity of his foe; but a thorough-going 
Christian and Catholic would not have let his anger - 
blaze forth like a volcano. Didn’t Christ forgive all 
His enemies, saying: “For they know not what they 
do?” Why couldn’t he — Joe — learn to take such a 
religious view of things? Yes, he would try. He 
would seek to forgive Sam Billings and forget the 
man’s abusive treatment of a certain motherless, 
brotherless, six-year-old boy, long ago. After all, 
hadn’t Sam done him the good of bringing him to Han- 
nah, and hadn’t Hannah been his best — his only — 
friend? Joe began to realize that even one’s enemies 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


125 


sometimes confer good, and it isn’t so hard to fulfil 
the command of love when such benefits are recalled. 

He strayed up Broadway and turned into the street 
which leads to the old St. Peter’s Church not far from 
the post-office. 

“Too bad!” sighed he to himself, as he slunk into a 
pew in the rear. “I wanted to go to Holy Communion, 
but now I don’t feel right after that run-in with Bill- 
ings. I feel almost as bad as I did last night, before 
going to confession. I surely am low down yet, but I 
want to rise — I do ! God help me !” 

Joe needed all the aid of religion; needed it sorely, 
for his trials were by no means ended. The new week 
was to be the most eventful of his life. 

After Mass, he went down to the docks and earned 
a few cents “smashing baggage enough to assure him 
of dinner, supper and (this most important) a shoe- 
shine and a hair-cut the following morning. He knew 
that a good appearance was the best of recommen- 
dations to an employer. 

He did not spend Sunday night in the Battery, where 
he might have another encounter with Billings. He 
journeyed away up to Central Park, snuggled comfort- 
ably in the corner of one of the cosy, rustic grape-ar- 
bors, watched the stars “Blossoming in the infinite 
meadow of heaven,” “The living hymn of light,” 
“Those golden candles fix’d in heaven’s air.” Watched 
and prayed. Slept 


126 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


CHAPTER XIV. 


A Memorable Monday. 

F ATHER Carlton’s visit to King’s Street was, of 
course, futile. Joe, at that time, was walking up 
Broadway, making his plans for the night. Inquiries 
among the neighbors resulted in nothing. Yes, they 
all knew Joe Billings, but, said one woman, “Yer River- 
ince, he hasn’t been home since Hannah was carted 
away. The laddie-buck was good enough in a way, 
but inclined to be a little wild.” 

“Maybe he got into some scrape and was pinched,” 
suggested a peddler whose hat Joe had once shot ofif 
with a snow-ball. 

With a pain in his heart, the priest hurried back to 
the hospital to prepare Mrs. Billings for the longest 
journey one can take. 

“Ain’t you got Joe with you, Father?” she asked, 
opening her dimming eyes and pitifully stretching out 
her bony hands. 

“He was not at home — the place was too lonely for 
him without you, I suppose, my good woman,” the 
priest kindly explained. “But he must be in the city, 
God will help me find him ; and as soon as I do, I will 
bring him to you.” 

“And — and I just won’t die, Father,” she coughed, 
“until he is here. Something tells me I haven’t done 
right by Joe, though God knows I tried. I loved him 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


127 


too much to ever scold him when he did wrong, and 
maybe — maybe — O Father, I must see him to tell him 
how sorry I am if I hurt his future in any way!” 

“You shall see him !” promised Father Carlton. “In- 
deed God may let you live to see him a credit to him- 
self and to you.” 

“If He only would!” she sighed. “God be good to 
him — and me!” 

When the young clergyman was leaving her bed-side 
that evening, her face was almost beautiful. Peace, 
hope and resignation had lent their soft beams to the 
withered features. At last she was in the fold; and 
Father Carlton, gazing at her, was minded of Christ’s 
tender beatitude: “Blessed are they that hunger and 
thirst . . . for they shall be filled.” 

In the low by-ways of life, this poor woman had 
sought Faith — sought it sorrowing. She had hun- 
gered and thirsted for religion. 

“I never knew, Father, that such happiness was for 
me,” she smiled. “I’d be in glory right this minute, 
if Joe was only here. But he will come, Father, he will 
come, won’t he ?” 

“Yes, my good woman.” 

“And, Father, if you ever come across a man by 
the name of Sam Billings, will you try to reform him 
and give him a taste of this joy you’re givin’ me? He 
doesn’t' know . No one ever taught him the way to 
God. Will you, Father?” 

“Yes, my good woman.” 

She closed her eyes, and seemed to be drifting off 
into the eternal sleep; but “Not until I see Joe, not 


128 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


till I see Joe/’ she murmured, over and over again. 

With a silently ardent prayer that her final desire 
be granted, Father Carlton left her. 

The next morning, he started a thorough search 
along the East-side for his brother. Naturally it was 
in vain; for, as we know, Joe had left that section of 
the city with a resolve never to return. 

* * * * * * 

Monday, the birds in the park were awake and astir 
no earlier than Joe. The fresh green carpet all around 
him, sparkling with dew, as if some fabulously wealthy 
king had rolled quantities of diamonds all over it ; the 
gray and brown rocks jutting out of the little hills ; 
the mirror-like pond — a blazing sheet of gold in the 
sunrise ! all these beauties of nature thrilled our young 
friend, so familiar with the squalor and ugliness of 
the slums, and strengthened his determination never 
to go back to the old life. 

He walked out of the queenly park and turned down 
Broadway, heading for the Grand Central Station. 
There he could “wash up” and give himself those other 
little touches which he trusted would “land” him a 
“job.” 

“Some fussy, young fellow !” beamed an elderly gen- 
tleman, who stood watching him sousing his head and 
scrubbing his face in a lavatory at the big terminal. 

“Have to be,” grinned Joe, blinking, for some of 
that liquid soap was in his eye. “I’m going to apply 
for a job this morning, and only the clean ones have 
a show.” 

“You’re right, young fellow,” seriously agreed the 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


129 


elderly man, who was a well-dressed person with gold- 
rimmed spectacles, smooth fat face, and hair just 
turning gray. “May I ask what kind of work you 
want ?” 

“I want to go into a department-store, where the 
work is clean and I’ll have a chance to rise.” 

“What do you mean by clean work ?” the gentleman 
inquired, archly. 

“Work that isn’t crooked,” promptly answered Joe, 
rubbing his head vigorously with a paper-towel, pulled 
from the roller. 

“Ah !” 

The man chewed on his cigar and said nothing more 
until the boy had dried his hair to his satisfaction. 
“I like your spirit,” he then remarked, “and I think 
I can help you. I am a member of the firm of Doubley 
& Co. We had an advertisement for boys in the 
Saturday edition of the Times.” 

“I saw it,” declared Joe, with excitement and in- 
terest. “Here it is.” He drew the folded piece of a 
newspaper out of his pocket. “It’s the ad I was going 
to answer first.” 

“Ah! Have you a recommendation?” 

“I’ve been trying to let soap and water give me one, 
sir. I’m going out to get my shoes polished now.” 

“You will do, young fellow. I’ll see that you get 
your job. By the way, have you had breakfast yet?” 

“No, sir.” 

“Neither have I. Just got off the train. I like com- 
pany. What do you say to a cup of coffee and brown- 
on-the- wheats with me?” 


1 3 o THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


“That surely sounds good to me, sir.” 

“Well, come along. Something tells me you will 
keep me interested. What is your name ?” 

So began an acquaintance which, in the next hour, 
ripened to a friendship. In a more comfortable than 
fashionable lunch-room, over two fragrant cups of 
Mocha and Java, two plates of smoking pan-cakes, 
and two dishes of the thickest juiciest steak that Joe 
had ever seen, the string of our young friend’s tongue 
was decidedly loosened. Mr. Winterton was a better 
listener than a talker. His ears drank in Joe’s story 
while his mouth attended to the excellent food. “I 
like you, Joseph,” he declared, at the close of the break- 
fast. “You haven’t bored me a bit. Perhaps we’ll 
have some more snacks together. But first, you will 
have to show me that you mean business at the store. 
It is an experiment — taking into our employ a boy 
whom we don’t know, and who hasn’t anyone to vouch 
for him, and who frankly admits that he hasn’t 
sprouted any wings yet. But you want to forge your 
way ahead, and I’m going to take a chance at giving 
you a chance. You look as though you have good 
stuff in you. It will not take long to find out. If you 
prove true, I’ll see that your rise is rapid ; if not, your 
discharge will be even more speedy. Of course, you 
will have to cut out the old life entirely.” 

“I’ve already done that, sir.” 

“Good! You have closed one chapter of your his- 
tory, and are opening another. See that this new one 
is fine and wholesome, I will help you to make it so. 
I can sympathize with you, because once I, too, was 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


131 

the victim of circumstances like you — a poor boy 
brought up in> the slums; but I worked my way out 
of the mud and never slid back into it. Eve no 
sympathy for the back-slider. Anyone who has a little 
sand to him doesn’t slip. So if you want me to be 
and stay your friend, keep on going right ahead.” 

“I will !” exclaimed Joe heartily. 

From the lunch-room, they went directly to the 
store. Mr. Winterton, to be sure, had a key of his 
own. He opened the heavy glass doors and revealed 
to our young friend a world of wonders and riches. 
It ranked amongst the best business places on Broad- 
way. Every aisle dazzled Joe’s eyes, and awed him 
into silence. 

“I’m going to start you with the very work at 
which I myself began, when I first came to this house,” 
said the gentleman, smiling. “I expect you to be a 
partner in the firm some day, like I am. And here’s 
hoping that the future holds for you a summer-house 
on the Hudson where you can go for delightful week- 
ends. But you’ll have to get up early in the morning, 
as I’ve done all my life, if you want to arrive at that 
degree of prosperity. You’ll have to be ready to do 
much more work than the other fellow and always 
do it at least a little better.” 

“I’ll try to remember,” promised Joe. 

“We shall let you be a bundle-boy for awhile. I shall 
occasionally call on you for an errand outside the 
store. I’m taking a special interest in you, Joseph. 
Be steady, and trust me; you will not be sorry. I 
never before helped a lad to climb in the world. Been 


132 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


too busy climbing myself. But I’ve always wanted 
to be of service to some deserving young fellow. You’ll 
be my first experiment.” 

In Mr. Winterton’s private office, they chatted for 
some time in an easy familiar way. 

Meanwhile, the help were filing into their various 
duties and the store was taking on the hum of indus- 
try. 

The gentleman at length rose and led Joe out of the 
office to introduce him to a good-looking, spic and 
span employee, who presided over the bundle depart- 
ment. 

“Joseph Billings, a young friend of mine, Mr. Ken- 
ny,” he announced. “I found him in the Grand 
Central over two hours ago, preparing with plenty of 
soap and water to apply to us for a position. I granted 
him his wish on the spot. Be good to him, Mr. Kenny, 
but make him work.” 

With a smile, the genial partner turned on his heel 
and returned to his office. 

Mr. Kenny was the kind of man any boy would 
admire. Each of his gray eyes held a big twinkle, and 
his mouth was round and humorous. His fists looked 
as though they were familiar with baseball; two of 
his fingers were done up in tape. 

He was a worker and he made everyone under him 
work. But he shed so much cheerfulness around him, 
that he made work seem more like play. 

“We’re a happy lot here, Joe,” he told our young 
friend. “We keep going so fast that the glooms 
haven’t a chance to catch up with us. The company 


“GOD IS LOVE 1 


133 


pays us well; so we try to give them the best that is 
in us, and we feel better for it. That’s right! Peel 
off your coat, hang it on the floor! Come on, I’ll 
show you what to do.” 

The morning went like a golden flash. Joe enjoyed 
every minute of it. At twelve o’clock, he was called 
into Mr. Winterton’s private domain. “You will need 
a week’s salary in advance, I’m thinking,” said the man 
pleasantly, only half looking up from his papers. “I 
want you to buy a few good things to put on your back 
and a few better things to put into your stomach. 
Here’s ten dollars. They will trust you in our ' 
clothing department for any reasonable amount, if 
you mention my name. You can pay a dollar or two 
every week for what you get. There is a cheap and 
good little restaurant down around the corner — Ker- 
rill’s. Now skip along. I’m busy.” 

“I don’t know how to thank you, Mr. Winterton,” 
confessed Joe, accepting the money. “Don’t bother 
to try,” the gentleman laughed. “I want to see you 
make good, and, if you do, I’ll be sufficiently thanked.” 

“I will make good !” asserted Joe, without boast but 
with solid determination. 

“Fine! Go right to it!” 

The lad held his head high as hq stepped out of the 
store. He felt independent and self-supporting at last. 
His chest was flung forth a bit, too; he was “follow- 
ing it,” as the saying goes. 

“What an ace of a man Mr. Winterton is, and what a 
nice twist of fortune to land in his favor and inter- 
est !” thought he. 


134 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


He was taken up so much with his agreeable con- 
templations that he did not notice an unkempt youth 
with freckeled face and grinning, toothless mouth, who 
was crossing the street. The lad walked fast to catch 
up with our young friend and had to inflict a pinch 
on his arm to gain attention. 

“Why hello, Brick, ,, said Joe, with some surprise 
but no pleasure. He wanted to steer clear of all old 
associates. “What’re you doing in this part of little 
old New York?” 

“Oh, one of the newsies told me he spotted you up 
around here; so here I am, too.” 

“How did you fare Saturday night with a revolver 
hangin’ over your face?” 

“Much you cared, Joe Billings!” exploded Brick. 
“You could have knocked that piece of furniture out 
of the guy's hand just as easy as pie; but instid, you 
ran off so dog-gone fast that, if you were over in 
Greece at the time of these here Olympian Mar’thon 
races, you’d have captured first prize.” He spat on 
the ground with disgust and sank his indignant fists 
into his trouser-pockets. 

“Why if you were over there in France,” he ran on, 
his nose quivering with sneers, “you’d hear jes’ two 
bullets and no more the first would whiz by you, and 
you’d whiz by the second ! You’re some big coward, 
Billings, and yer better admit it !” 

“I^fin't a coward!” denied Joe angrily, doubling his 
fist, “and if you say much more. Brick, I’ll prove it 
to you, see ! I ran away Saturday night, because what 
show did I have against a loaded weapon? If I tried 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


135 


to get the gun away from the man — which I couldn’t 
anyhow, because he had it grabbed firm — it would 
have gone off and perhaps killed both of us. I admit 
I was scared at the time, but so were you. And if 
you had the chance to escape, you’d have taken it just 
as quick as I did. You know you would. A fellow 
ain’t a coward just because, when liberty, eternity and 
the police-station are set before him, he picks out 
liberty. You call me a coward again, Brick, and I’ll 
plant my knuckles in your nose.” 

“Well, whether I call it to you or not, I’ll always 
think it of you.” 

“Huh! If you thought just a little harder, Brick, 
your brains would die of wonder. An’ if you had 
just a little more sense, there’s a real possibility that 
they’d let you into a home for the feeble-minded.” 

Brick scowled. “Laugh away at me, you Joe, but 
the laugh is soon goin’ to be on the other side of your 
map,” he darkly hinted. “I’m followin’ you up — for 
somebody wot is interested. I know that you got a 
job in that swell store, and I suppose mighty high no- 
tions is swellin’ in yer upper story. Well, enjoy y’rself 
while you can. Take it from me, the time won’t last 
extry long. Good-bye; and think a little, when you 
can find time and the power, wot a honnerable thing 
it is to leave a pal in the lurch.” 

Joe’s fist was itching to stop up Brick’s mouth with 
a blow ; but something — God’s grace ? — restrained him. 
And the street lad, with a mocking smile, slid off into 
the crowd, like a snake into a thicket. 

Our young friend had expected to enjoy his lunch 


136 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


at the restaurant very much ; but a veal cutlet, a slice 
of cocoa-nut custard pie, and a dish of rice pudding 
failed to win him from the displeasure and misgivings 
which the meeting with Brick caused. He felt that 
the youth’s words were not exactly idle. He had never 
known him to tell a downright lie. But what “some- 
body” could be interested enough to employ Brick 
as a shadower? And what was the evil which Brick 
declared to be threatening? 

From the moment the boy left him till he concluded 
his meal with a glass of water and a flourish of a paper 
napkin in the restaurant, Joe pondered and devised 
solutions. In vain. So, when reaching for his hat, 
he decided to forget all about Brick and his utter- 
ances. It would do no good to get worked up over 
what might possibly be nothing. And, if any trouble 
really came to pass, he could look out for himself ; if 
not, he had a friend, Mr. Winterton, who wanted to 
see him rise and would stand by him. 

He returned to the store in a good mood and made a 
visit to the clothing department, where he secured, 
with a two-dollar deposit and a mention of his em- 
ployer’s name, a neat dark suit of clothes and other 
necessities. Then he re-attacked his bundle-business 
with vim. 


"GOD IS LOVE ! 


137 


CHAPTER XV. 

The Temptation. 

I N the course of his first afternoon of service at 
the store, Joe was again called to Mr. Winterton’s 
office. "I want you to do an errand for me, son,” 
said the gentleman. "Carry this to Pitman & Rey- 
nold’s.” He slipped a very business-like manila en- 
velope into our young friend’s hand. "The address is 
on it. You won’t have any trouble finding it. It’s on 
Broadway. Hurry, or the dry-goods industry may 
suffer in your absence.” A smile played around his 
pleasant mouth and his eyes twinkled over his gold- 
rimmed spectacles. 

Joe laughed. He recalled what Brick said about his 
being a champion Marathon runner, and knew that his 
employer need have no fear about his speed. 

As he was closing the frosted-glass door of the 
office behind him, he noticed a man, slender and 
stylishly clad in a gray, English-cut suit, standing near 
the jewelry-counter, apparently examining a pearl 
ring, but really gazing out of the corner of a half- 
closed eye at — Joe himself. 

The boy leaned against the door and his blood 
raced in his veins. 

A smile curled significantly across the man’s lips. 
Slowly he returned the ring to the counter, thanked 
the clerk for her courtesy, lightly turned on his heel, 


1 38 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


and, with a truly Fifth Avenue air, bore himself out 
of the store. 

Feeling sure that he was recognized, yet hoping 
against hope that he was not, Joe set forth on his 
errand. 

But no sooner was he beyond the entrance of the 
store than a soft hand fell on his shoulder, and the 
elegant gentleman loomed at his side. 

“Going down Broadway ?” he asked. “Yes? So am 
I. We shall make good company.” 

Joe drew back, his face blanching. Perhaps, afte r 
all, as Brick had said, he was a coward. But what 
boy wouldn’t be fearful under the circumstances? Joe 
had never been to prison. His whole being arose in 
revolt against a visit there. He felt that, once in a 
cell, he could never hold his head up again, and the 
worst the city had to offer would be his destiny. And 
now — 

“What do you want of me ?’’ he asked, his voice un- 
steady. “Are you going to hand me over to the 
bulls?” 

“Perhaps,” the man quietly remarked, taking out 
his silver cigarette-case. “It depends on you” 

“I’m sorry for what I did; honest, I am.” 

“No doubt — now that I’m casting the shadow of the 
jail across your youthful path,” the man laughed, 
sarcastically. “It’s no small offense to assault and 
try to rob a citizen. I could have you and your friend 
sent down for some years. How about that?” 

“Don’t, mister, don’t ! I was desperate last Saturday 
night. My mother was in the hospital — and they 


"GOD IS LOVE ! 


139 


wouldn’t let me see her — and it seemed as though I 
didn’t care for anything. I was reckless then ; but I’ve 
had time to see things straight since, and I don’t want 
to go crooked any more. You are not going to have 
me pulled in, mister, are you?” 

"Not if you prove to be as sensible a fellow as your 
partner, Brick Shanley,” answered the man, as he 
slowly lighted a Turkish trophy. 

"What do you mean, mister? I don’t get your 
drift.” 

"Well, Brick, rather than spend some of the best 
years of his life looking like a zebra and posing behind 
iron bars, consented to enter my particular service. 
I in turn agreed to let him go scot free. I stand ready 
to do the same for you — on the same conditions.” 

Joe’s suspicions arose. The street-boy is quick to 
catch insinuations. "Your particular service, mister?” 
said he, frowning. "That sounds ‘phoney’ to me. 
What’s the game?” 

"I prefer that you refrain from calling it a ‘game’,” 
frowned the man, flicking the gathering ash off the 
cigarette with his little finger. "It’s a real, serious 
business.” 

Joe was gaining a bit of courage. "Well, what is 
it, if it’s so ‘real’ and so ‘serious’? Seems to me that 
it ought to be easy for you to get all the boys you want, 
if your scheme is like that.” 

"Don’t think so loud !” advised the man, sharply. 
"It makes no difference what my business is or what 
it isn’t — you’ve got to join me ! I have the goods on 
you, young fellow, and you have the choice of work- 


i 4 o THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


ing for me or going to jail. I hope you will be sen- 
sible, like Shanley. If not — good-night for you !” 

“Say, mister, who are you and what do you want 
me to do, anyway?” 

“Why, to answer the first part of your question, 
I am several people. At present, I am a wealthy gen- 
tleman from Milwaukee, stopping here in New York 
for a few weeks at the Hotel Marsden. I go wherever 
I get the most money, and I have been at various times 
a cashier, a railroad conductor, an actor, a man about 
town, a beggar, and — as at present — a millionaire. You 
see, I am really many folks rolled into one.” 

“Oh, I see, all right!” cried Joe, elevating his eye- 
brows with interest and letting the corners of his 
mouth drop with disgust. “You’re one of those 
lightning-change crooks, slippery as an eel. The police 
can never get a hold of your kind, because you go and 
lose yourselves in some new disguise any time you’re 
wanted.” 

“But the funny part of it is,” winked the man, 
impishly, “that we can attach the law to anyone 
who does wrong to us. Be careful, young man ! And 
now, let me answer the second part of your question. 
What do I want you to do? Well, you saw me exam- 
ining gems in the store, just now. I’m interested in 
jewelry. It strikes me that you, working right in the 
store, can put your fingers on a good many little — 
precious — things, and never be found out — ” 

“What! — ” interrupted Joe. 

“Don’t get excited, young man,” suggested the gen- 
tleman villain, in even, lowered tones'. “Hear me out, 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


141 

and then decide whether you will work for me or — 
go to jail. Listen. The owners of our big stores know 
that their employees steal, and also know that it is 
just about impossible to catch them doing it. So they 
expect a certain amount of their merchandise to go 
that way every year; it is part of the business, and 
they’d be mighty surprised if it didn’t happen. So, 
you see, when you take anything, you are doing only 
what they look for you to do.” 

The cunning and guile of Satan were in the man’s 
mind and on his lips, weaving a snare. Like a ser- 
pent, he was coiling around Joe’s life, about to crush 
virtue and cause a withering and decay. And Joe, 
instead of seeking in this time of temptation for spir- 
itual power to cast off the viper, made the mistake of 
thinking only of prison and the enduring disgrace of 
going there. He realized the power of such charac- 
ters as the man by his side. Scoundrels themselves, 
they knew how to elude the law and drive others into 
its noose. The fact that the fellow was a scamp caused 
Joe more fear than he would have felt if the man 
were really respectable. A scoundrel is so much 
harsher a prosecutor, and often so much cleverer, 
than a decent individual. 

“So you want me to thieve for you,” breathed Joe 
bitterly, brokenly. “Well,” he asked with sudden 
spirit, “what if I turn the tables and tell the cops what 
you just told me?” 

“Crow away, young rooster,” gurgled the man. 
“You’re only a boy of the streets, and I — why, I’m a 
gentleman from Milwaukee, stopping at the Hotel 


142 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


Marsden, I am. And who would be so absurd as to 
believe you against me? I have the goods on you, 
youngster, but you’ll never have them on me. That 
makes a big difference.” 

By this time, they were some little distance down 
Broadway. Both sides of the great thorough-fare were 
swarming with after-noon crowds. Out of the many 
faces he was passing, Joe’s eyes picked that of a priest. 
A saintly countenance with purity shining from every 
pore and the light of gentleness, strength and charity 
gleaming from the eyes ! It was the face of Father 
Fred Carlton. He was hurrying up Broadway, while 
his young brother, whom he had been eagerly seeking, 
was going down. 

Joe did not recognize this minister of God as the 
one who heard his- confession ; but the very approach 
of a priest reminded the boy of his fervent reception 
of absolution last Saturday, and of his holy resolu- 
tions, and of his promise to visit the good Father for 
advice. Those memories saved him. 

Disgust for his weakness in listening to the vile 
creature at his side, and for being on the verge of 
yielding to him, welled in his breast. His cheeks 
burned. He slipped in behind the man, where the 
passing priest could not see him. He was ashamed to 
be viewed by one who was so near and dear to the 
God to whom he had been about to prove unfaithful. 

Thus Father Carlton once more saved his own 
brother from peril, but was unconscious of the fact. 
Seen, but unseeing, he went on his way up the 
thronged street and again moved out of the life of 



Out of the many faces he was passing, Joe s eyes picked 

that of a priest. 




“GOD IS LOVE” 


145 


the one he was so anxious to find. God’s ways are as 
strange as good, and as good as strange. His estrange- 
ment is only seeming. 

“Here’s where I leave you, mister,” Joe shortly in- 
formed his companion. His eyes glistened and his 
face had gone quite pale. “You have handed me some 
line of talk, mister, but I don’t like the bait you use. 
You can’t catch me. I’m sick of listenin’ to you. 
Good-bye.” 

“Not so fast, Percy, Oscar, or Oswald — as you will. 
You haven’t forgotten all about jail, have you?” 

“No, I haven’t. But I ain’t green, mister; and I 
know I’d land in jail just as quick if I started stealin’ 
jewelry, as I would if you got me arrested for as- 
saulting you last Saturday night. So I might just as 
well go there for what I’ve done as for what you want 
me to do. But that ain’t just the thing, either. I 
want to go straight, and I’m going to go straight, what- 
ever happens, see! You’ll make no crook out of me!” 

The man was considerably annoyed. But, controll- 
ing himself, he merely remarked: “Don’t be silly. 
There’s no danger of jail, if you work for me; and I 
always go fifty-fifty with my boys. Why, Brick did 
a little job for me last night and is the richer by ten 
dollars to-day. You will never have empty pockets if 
you work for me — .” 

“Well, I am not going to work for you, see !” 

“Confound you, youngster !” the man muttered, his 
forehead all frowns. “I don’t intend to waste any 
more words on you. I’m going to act! And pretty 


146 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


soon you’ll feel a little different towards me, see if you 
don’t !” 

He snapped his fingers in Joe’s face, and then 
changed his scowl into an evil smile. “Good-bye for 
a little while.” 

He turned up Broadway and Joe was alone with his 
fears. What was the man going to do ? What would 
be his next move? 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


147 


CHAPTER XVI. 

Clayton Begins. 

“OOMEONE to see me? Tell him I discuss only 

^ business matters during business hours.” 

“But he says he wants to talk to you on a matter 
of business, sir,” the clerk explained. 

“Well all right, then. Show him in.” 

A moment later, and the glossy villain who tempted 
and threatened Joe, was smilingly standing in the office. 

“Mr. Winterton, I believe,” said he, in soft, genteel 
tone. “My card.” 

Joe’s employer read on the little, white rectangle, 
“Sydney R. Clayton, Suite 10, Marsden Hotel.” He 
looked up inquiringly, and with respect, too. Anyone 
who could afford to occupy “Suite 10, Marsden Hotel,” 
was not to be ignored. But he was not well impressed 
with Sydney R. Clayton's face. There was a glint to 
the eyes that would arouse some suspicion. However — 

“As gentleman to gentleman,” began Mr. Clayton, 
toying with his neat watch chain of chaste gold, “I 
want to tell you about a boy whom I saw coming out 
of this office about half an hour ago, when I was ex- 
amining some jewelry in this store. I debated with 
myself for exactly thirty minutes as to whether I 
should tell you what I know or not. But at last jus- 
tice triumphed over charity, and here I am.” 

“Really, sir.” Mr. Winterton leaned back in his 


148 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 

swivel-chair, joined the tips of his fingers, and pursed 
his lips. “I pray you, go on.” 

“Well, last Saturday night, that boy— I have since 
learned his name is Joe Billings — waylaid me with 
another young scalawag down-town. It was after 
business hours; the street was deserted and the two 
desperadoes thought they could do me up in great 
style. That Joe gave me a stinging blow in the stomach, 
but I’m tough. There’s not an ounce of unservice- 
able fat on me. I patronize the baths regularly. Well, 
sir, the boy didn’t succeed in knocking me out, though 
I pretended he did, and I fell forward on the side- 
walk. That gave me time to gather my strength. The 
other young fellow was rustling my pockets. I made 
short work of him, grabbing his throat and scar- 
ing him to death. When I had him so weak that he 
almost fainted, I whispered some good old-fash- 
ioned advice into his ear and let him go. But the 
real evil-doer — the one who punched me — had escaped. 
I’d like to have taught him a lesson, too. Well, since 
Saturday night, I forgot him somewhat, until, to my 
surprise, I saw the same bold fellow coming out of 
your office this after-noon, big as life. Do you know, 
Mr. Winterton, that you’re employing a young ruf- 
fian, a robber, a scamp, to do your errands?” 

Joe’s employer stroked his chin with his fingers for 
several minutes, bit his lip, and was silent. Then 
he said, “What you tell me, Mr. Clayton, is bad. But 
still, when I hired the boy this morning, I knew that 
he hadn’t qualified for Paradise. He told me quite 
a few things about himself. So, I’m willing to let 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


149 


his past be his past, and take him for what he is at 
present. I’m sure he has turned over a new leaf ; and, 
as I promised, I’m going to help him to keep it a 
clean one. The boy has been brought up in the heart 
of vice, and the surprise is not that he has done what 
you have told me, but that he has not done worse. I 
am sure that assaulting you, Mr. Clayton, was his first 
big act of badness ; and we, as men, can afford to be 
generous and forgiving, can’t we?” 

“Oh, yes — of course, of course. But don’t you think 
it imprudent to have a boy of that type in your store?” 

“Maybe it is. I am only experimenting. But as 
long as the boy continues to give me satisfaction, I 
will stand by him.” 

“And if he fails?” 

“Why, then, he will shoot out of my employ as fast 
as an arrovf from the bow.” 

“Well,” remarked Clayton, hypocritically, “I hope 
you will never have occasion to be disappointed in him. 
But, somehow, I have no confidence in street-boys. 
They are as wise as foxes and tricky as monkeys. If 
I were you, I would keep an eye on that boy, Billings.” 

“Thank you, I shall.” 

“I was thinking about having him arrested for what 
he did Saturday night ; but since he has turned over a 
new leaf, I shall be a little lenient and forgiving, as 
you advise. I shall be as pleased as yourself, Mr. 
Winterton, if he turns out good. But I have my 
doubts, and, for your own good, Mr. Winterton, you’d 
better not trust him too much — at least for awhile.” 

“Thank you, I shall remember.” 


150 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


“Well, good afternoon, sir/' 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Clayton.’’ 

As the slick rogue was closing the office-door behind 
him, Joe entered the store. They passed each other 
in the aisle. Clayton darted at our young friend a 
glance of malice and triumph. Joe returned it with a 
look of disgust. 

Just near the main entrance was a ribbon-counter, 
presided over by a pretty, slender girl of seventeen or 
eighteen, with curly flaxen hair, and big, innocent blue 
eyes. Clayton stopped a minute before her. 

“Did you see that boy who just went by, Marie?” 

“Am I blind, Syd?” she giggled. 

“Well, I want him to join our pleasant little band.” 

“I don’t mind, Syd. He is a nice kid. I have made 
eyes at him a couple of times to-day, but he won’t 
look at me.” 

“Well, meet me to-night. I want to talk with you 
about a plan for getting him.” 

“All right, Syd. — Yes, madam, the violet silk is two- 
fifty a yard.” 

“My hash is settled,” Joe gloomed, as he returned to 
his work. “That man has been to the boss. I can 
expect the bounce or the ambulance any time now. 
Tough luck!” 


"GOD IS LOVE” 


i5i 


CHAPTER XVII. 

The Climax. 

B UT, during the next two days, neither the 
"bounce” nor the "ambulance” came for Joe. He 
half felt that the storm had blown over, and he was 
again beginning to breathe freely. Sometimes he 
thought Mr. Winterton was watching him narrowly; 
but the man was as kind and jolly as ever. 

He secured a decent little room in a respectable 
house, for a few dollars a week. His new clothes added 
one hundred per cent, to his appearance. He looked 
like a comfortably-fixed high-school boy, and wished 
that he were. He wanted an education badly; for, 
climbing the heights of respectability, he already real- 
ized his handicaps. But perhaps he could soon make 
some arrangement to attend night classes. He would 
speak to that good priest about the matter. By the 
way, what was the name? Strange he had not in- 
quired Saturday night! 

"It is time to pay that visit”, the boy told himself. 
But he didn’t even know the name. Well, he could 
describe his friend to the servant at the door of the 
rectory, and she would know. Still, could he describe 
him, after all? No; he only knew that the clergyman 
was one of the kindest, most sympathetic, and attrac- 
tive persons he had ever met — yes, finer even than 
Mr. Winterton. But that was a meagre description, 
and futile. 


152 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


Well, he would go again to the church the follow- 
ing Saturday night and surely would learn the name 
of the amiable Father confessor this time. But so 
many things can happen between Wednesday and 
Saturday — 

Thursday morning, Marie, the slender, pretty young 
lady, with whom Sydney Clayton had a brief, hurried 
conversation Monday afternoon, spent a few minutes 
conversing with Amanda Cherry, the blonde mistress 
of the jewelry department. Staring straight into the 
saleslady’s face with her innocent eyes, and talking the 
usual, nonsensical store gossip, she managed to trail 
her fingers, smeared with gum, over some un-set 
diamonds, which lay exposed in a case of purple velvet. 
(Miss Cherry happened to be taking account of stock.) 
Three of the gems stuck, and Marie’s hand folded over 
them. 

The next act of the girl was to get rid of the prec- 
ious spoils. She asked the floor-walker, a courteous 
man, for permission to go to the cloak room “for a 
forgotten handkerchief”. 

He knitted his bushy black eyebrows and gazed at 
her sharply for a second. But then he granted her re- 
quest, and she gracefully glided off from her first evil 
to her second. Instead of the hall for the girls, she 
sought that of the men. She selected from the var- 
ious garments hanging on a row of hooks, Joe’s best 
coat. He always wore his old one while working on 
the bundles, but, when called upon by Mr. Winterton 
to do an errand, he would slip into the good garment. 

From her silken girdle, Marie drew out a threaded 


GOD IS LOVE 1 


i53 


needle and a tiny pair of silver scissors. In a second, 
she had clipped open one of the button-holes of the 
coat. Down into the opening she dropped the three 
diamonds. Then her nimble fingers sewed up the slit, 
and she had just put the coat back on the peg when 
the door opened. 

“It seems to me that you are here unnecessarily 
long, Miss/’ spoke the floor-walker. “Aren’t you in 
the wrong place, too?” 

“Yes sir,” said Marie, sweetly, holding her hand- 
kerchief to her face. “I had a nose-bleed, and stepped 
into this room for a minute.” 

“Well, why didn’t you go where there is water?” 

“I never thought, sir.” 

“Ahem!” coughed the floor-walker. 

By noon-time the spirit of excitement was running 
around the store like a breeze. The clerks looked 
questioningly, suspiciously, at one another. It was 
known that something or other was missing and that 
the firm was determined to leave no stone unturned 
for its recovery and the discovery of the thief. 

A detective was stationed in each coat-room and 
every clerk, entering to secure his or her wraps, was 
quizzed and examined. 

Joe was gone over like those who preceded him, but 
nothing was found against him. He threw off his 
shabby, old coat, which was good enough in the bundle 
department, and drew down his new one from the 
hook. He was about to leave the room when the 
detective, perhaps unfavorably disposed toward him 


154 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


because of the poor apparel in which he entered, de- 
clared, “I’d like to look at that coat, too.’* 

“Very well sir,” said Joe, wriggling out of the gar- 
ment and handing it to him. 

The man ran his hands into the pockets. Frowning, 
he shook his head. Then he slid his fingers over the 
padding — down the sides — and smiled. 

“A scissors, please,” he requested of the matron 
who was standing by and who had assisted him in 
searching some of the women. 

Out of the little cut he made in the coat, dropped — 
three diamonds. 

In two minutes, the coat-room contained the mem- 
bers of the firm and several employees. 

Why dwell on the gloomy details? Joe’s astonish- 
ment flamed into anger at the injustice of his case; 
and his anger cooled to fear for the consequences ; and 
everybody — even Mr. Winterton — took this fear for 
an evidence of guilt. 

“My boy,” reproved his employer, shaking his head, 
“I didn’t expect this of you. I thought you wanted 
and meant to do right.” 

Joe could only look helplessly up to him with dumb 
appeal. 

“Haven’t you anything to say for yourself?” 

Joe wet his lips with his tongue. “All I can say, 
Mr. Winterton,” he mumbled, “is that I saw nothing 
of those diamonds till they dropped out of my coat, 
and that I haven’t been in the coat-room all morn- 
ing—” 

“That’s right, sir”, spoke up Mr. Kenny, Joe’s over- 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


155 


seer in the bundle-department. “He has been at his 
work right under my eyes all morning.” 

“Didn’t slip away for a minute or two — long enough 
to hide the diamonds?” asked Mr. Winterton. 

“No, sir ; I can vouch for it.” 

Joe gave Mr. Kenny a look of gratitude. 

“The boy may have stolen the gems last night just 
before the store closed,” suggested the detective, 
“sewed them up in his coat when he got home, and, 
feeling sure that they would never be discovered in the 
clever hiding-place, made bold to wear that coat right 
into this store this morning.” 

It was plausible. Everybody frowned again on Joe. 

“But,” objected Amanda Cherry, the blonde sales- 
lady of the jewelry department, who was also one 
of the interested spectators, “I can almost swear that 
ihe diamonds were not gone the beginning of the 
morning. I was looking over the stock this morning, 
and I found nothing missing at nine o’clock.” 

“You can ‘almost’ swear,” sniffed the detective. 
“This means that you are not sure that you have not 
made a mistake. You see, miss, I am as apt to be 
right as you are likely to be wrong, and I repeat that 
I think the boy stole the diamonds last evening.” 

A murmur of approval arose. 

Mr. Winterton coughed and offered, “Well, since 
there is still a doubt that the lad stole the jewels last 
night, and since we know that, if he did not steal them 
last night, he could not have stolen them this morning, 
we must not deal too harshly with him — ” 

“You mean that we ought not call in the police?” 


1 56 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


asked another member of the firm— Mr. Watkins, a 
tall, thin person with a sour face. 

“Precisely.” 

“Then permit me to say, Mr. Winterton, that this 
would be downright folly! The jewels were found 
cleverly hidden in the boy’s coat. That should be 
proof enough for anybody that he is the thief.” 

“But you are forgetting Miss Cherry’s and Mr. 
Kenny’s testimony, are you not?” 

“Facts outweigh their testimony.” 

“That is to be proved. I do not believe in sending 
the lad to jail until we are perfectly sure of his guilt. 
I have my doubts, and I guess more than half of you 
here present have yours ” 

“Well, Mr. Winterton,” demanded Watkins, “he 
must at least be discharged. We can’t afford to have 
his class around here any longer.” 

The kind-hearted Mr. Winterton had been fighting 
against his own convictions in defending Joe. True, 
he was uncertain. But he knew of Joe’s shady past; 
and the warning of Mr. Sydney Clayton was ringing 
a sharp “I told you so” in his ears. After all, a street- 
boy is not likely to turn honest over night. Joe must 
have taken the diamonds. Who else would have put 
them in his coat ? But the man could not help feeling 
sorry for the boy and he desired to make the penalty 
as light as possible. 

“Yes, I agree, Mr. Watkins,” said he, “that the lad 
should be discharged. That is punishment enough 
under the circumstances.” 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


157 


The third and head member of the firm, Mr. Doub- 
ley, an old, dried-up, little man, who followed Mr. 
Winterton’s lead in everything, simply nodded his 
head. 

“My boy,” spoke Joe’s employer huskily, placing a 
hand on his shoulder, “my experiment is ended. It 
turned out bad. I’m sorry — sorry.” 

Joe could not speak. It seemed as though his heart 
was in his throat, choking him. He stood pale and 
rigid like a statue. There was intense silence in the 
crowded room for a minute. Mr. Watkins cleaved it 
by declaring, “Here’s your hat, young man, and there’s 
the door!” “Good-bye,” said Mr. Winterton. “And 
if it should ever turn out that you are not what you 
now seem to be, boy, I want to resume being your 
friend.” 

Joe scarcely heard. Drawing on his old coat — his 
eyes hot and pricked with unshed tears — he walked as 
in a bad dream, out of the room, out of the store, out 
of respectability. — 

Mr. Winterton shrugged his shoulders, blinked, and 
returned to his office. No sooner was he seated in the 
great chair before his desk than a knock came at the 
door. 

It was the floor-walker. 

“Sir,” he began, stepping over to the desk and lay- 
ing his hand on it, “I can’t help thinking that the boy 
you discharged is innocent. I have reasons; but they 
are not strong enough, as yet, to amount to a great 
deal. That’s why I didn’t voice them just now. But 
have I your permission, sir, to follow up a few clues 


158 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


which may prove the boy’s innocence — and somebody 
else’s guilt. I am no detective, but I happen to know 
much more about the clerks of this store and their 
movements than the gentlemen you employed. One of 
our girls was in that room this morning pretty 
long — long enough to sew the diamonds in the coat. 
I have my suspicions. May I have that coat of the 
boy’s in which the diamonds were found, for a few 
days ?” 

“Certainly, Mr. Walden. Any proof you can pro- 
duce will be welcome. More welcome than you realize ! 
For I was surely learning to take a> father’s interest 
in poor Joe — ” 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


159 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


A Capture. 


S Joe left the store, he was in despair. Again 



A. friendless and alone! With the brand of theft 
on his name, he could never return to the respectable 
life. No decent occupation was open to him. He 
could be only a Brick Shanley today and a Sam 
Billings tomorrow. He had tried to make good and 
lost out. What was the use? 

Again he made the mistake of not turning in his 
trial to Him from whom true help cometh. He lost 
his grasp on Hope which is both “the pillar that holds 
up the world” and the cord that binds up the hearts in 
it. His cross seemed too heavy, and, instead of seek- 
ing strength to carry it, he was ready to cast it off. 
As usual, Satan was ready to help him. Joe’s soul was 
lacking in the deep devotion that would have saved the 
situation for him. His life was as Shakespeare’s bud : 
“bit by the envious worm” of temptation too soon. 

A hand fell on his shoulder. 

He looked up — into the evil eyes of Sydney Clayton. 

“Bounced, discharged, cabbaged, as it were?” 
laughed the man. “Your woe-begone countenance tells 
me all about it, so you needn’t say a word. Guilty of 
theft, eh? Jewelry, huh? You see, I know all. I told 
you I’d get you.” 

“So it was you !” exclaimed Joe. 


i6o THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


“Partly, partly,” admitted Clayton lightly. “I didn’t 
put the diamonds in your coat, of course.” 

“No; but you had some clerk in the store do it?” 
Joe clawed his fists and his eyes blazed. 

“You are a sharp kid. I want you in my business 
and that is why I’ve gone to all this trouble to get you.” 

“Well, don’t be so sure you will ever get me.” 

“Oh, why not?” And Clayton carelessly snapped 
his fingers. “Nobody else wants you.” 

The words sank deeply into Joe’s sore heart. No 
nobody else wanted him ! It seemed so true ! He had 
not a friend now. Mr. Winterton had turned his back 
on him. No man would employ him — except this 
scoundrel Clayton. 

“You see, Joe, (I’ll call you that from now on, be- 
cause we are to be quite intimate), it is a case of work- 
ing for me or — starving. You have the name of being 
a thief. No one will ever think of you as anything 
else. So you might as well have the gain.” 

“Yes — I suppose I might — as well,” murmured Joe, 
dully. “What’s the use of trying to be anything else — 
when the whole world is against me!” 

“Now you’re talking! Come with me, and you’ll 
have cash galore.” 

Joe said nothing. He was in the same don’t-care- 
what-becomes-of-me mood which he experienced the 
Saturday before. He followed his tempter, just as 
he had accompanied Brick Shanley. 

Up Broadway he and Clayton walked, turned into a 
side street, and never stopped till they reached a 
shabby brick house down by the water. 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


161 


Clayton talked all the time about various things. 
Joe scarcely heard him, for his mind was fired with 
his disgrace. And his heart was fierce with a deter- 
mination to “get back” on the world for its injustice 
to him. He detested the man at his side; but he was 
so angry at everything and everybody, that he was 
reckless and ready to do whatever the villain wished. 

“You can hang out here for a day or two,” said 
Clayton, leading him into the building and up some 
rickety stairs. “I have a job for you for Saturday 
night. Then you and I can take a train out of New 
York for the West.” 

He drew a key from his pocket and opened a door 
at the head of the second flight. “In here,” he di- 
rected. “Enter your new home. Make yourself com- 
fortable, Joe. Gentlemen, see that this new young mem- 
ber of our band has whatever he needs. Good-bye.” 

To Joe’s amazement, the door closed behind him, 
the key turned in the lock, and two big figures grabbed 
him. 

“Let me go!” he cried, wriggling in the hands of 
his captors. 

“Catch us !” snarled a voice which he had heard 
before. It made him weak, and he ceased struggling. 

“Glory be, if it ain’t him himself ! I’ve got you at 
last, young scamp !” triumphed the voice, “I’ve got 
you at last. I told y’r I would ! Take that — and that.” 
The blows struck the boy in the abdomen. 

“You’ve knocked him out, Fats,” gruffed the other 
man. “We won’t have to bother with him for an 


162 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


hour or two. Let’s tie up his hands and feet while 
he’s quiet.” 

“Yes, I punched him, Ike, all right, just where he 
biffed me last Sunday mornin’. It takes Sam Billings, 
Ike, to remember things. The mills of the gods grind 
slow ; but, boy, how they do grind ! It takes Sam Bill- 
ings !” 

“You seem to know the kid and have a big grudge 
again’ him, Fats.” 

“Know him? Why it wuz I that give him to Han- 
nah, me long beat-it wife ! Afid it was him that busted 
up me love-nest that I used to work so hard to sup- 
port.” 

“Well, if that’s the case. Fats, give the kid a kick 
and a cuff for me. He sure is naughty.” 

It was not the last beating Sam Billings bestowed 
on Joe before Saturday night. The boy was com- 
pletely at the mercy of the pair of good-for-nothings 
whom Clayton had picked up in the Battery and em 
ticed into his service for seventy-five cents a day. 
The sum kept them in cheap cigars and liquor, and 
they were content to go on guarding and abusing the 
boy forever. 

Joe’s despair deepened. Prayer would have been 
sunshine in the gloom, but he did not even try to pray. 
He felt that God, like everybody else, had forsaken 
him. As if He could abandon the creatures for whom 
His Son died! The light of Faith went out. There 
remained only darkness — . 

Thursday passed into Friday, and Friday into 
Saturday. Day was the same as night in that cheer- 



“Enter your new home. Make yourself comfortable, Joe. 
Gentlemen, see that this new young member of our band 
has whatever he needs.” 










































/ 















* 


» 









» 



1 




/« 






















































“GOD IS LOVE : 


165 

less room. A huge store-house rose close to the two 
windows, and the few rays of day which fell between 
the buildings were shut out of the room by the green 
shades which Sam and Ike never took the trouble to 
raise. The place was a miserable combination of 
blackness, mustiness, creaks, cockroaches and rats. Joe 
could not have been better or worse hidden away, had 
they placed him in the pit of a boat bound for the far 
East. 

To add to his wretchedness, they gave him next to 
nothing to eat, and kept the tight cords on his wrists 
and legs. 

By Saturday afternoon he was weak and sick be- 
yond expression. And somehow — again by the grace 
of God, though he knew it not — the illness of his body 
brought on the health of his soul. The pain of de- 
spair rose out of his heart like a lifted thorn; his 
body took on all the suffering, and a bodily ache is 
much easier to bear than a spiritual. The forgotten 
words of the good Father confessor came back to him 
like a cool, clean breeze to refresh and purify his 
soul: “My son, never again allow a loss in this life 
to imperil your eternal salvation. Never despair. Re- 
member that Christ’s glorious resurrection came after 
His terrible crucifixion. It is the same with the Christ- 
like — glory follows suffering.” 

He had suffered. It was not too late to consecrate 
his wrongs, his bounds, to Christ. Soon his trouble 
would be over. He knew that his flesh could not en- 
dure much more, and, when it gave way, his soul 
would be free. In that sunless room, he made the most 


1 66 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


fervent act of contrition of his life. Then he waited 
with peace and resignation for the fulfilment of God’s 
will. 

That night, while Sam and Ike were snoring, a key 
turned in the lock and the door swung open. A match 
struck, and, in a globe of yellow light, Joe saw the thin 
evil face of Sydney Clayton, like a devil in a flame. 

The man quickly lit a candle and brought it over to 
the couch where the boy lay. 

“My, my! you look all washed out, Joe,” he obser- 
ved, with a rasp of anger in his voice. “ I didn’t in- 
tend those assesf to kick you around quite so badly as 
all that. I have a job for you to-night, and by one 
o’clock we’ll be leaving New York for a long time.” 

He unbound the cords and bade the boy stand up. 
Joe tried, but was too weak. 

“Those fools!” snarled Clayton. “I told them to 
keep you, not to kill you. I simply have to use you 
to-night. I wanted them to break you in, but it looks 
as though they broke you up.” 

He thrust his hands into his inside pocket and drew 
out a flask. “A little brandy will brace you, boy.” 
He uncorked the bottle and tried to force some of the 
liquor between Joe’s teeth. 

“No — I don’t want any of that stuff,” protested Joe, 
feebly. “I promised my mother I’d never let it pass 
my lips. Give me some water and a piece of bread, 
and I’ll be all right.” 

Clayton put back the flask and got a cup of water 
at the sink in the corner. A half loaf of mouldy bread 
was on the table and he snatched it up, too. 


“GOD IS LOVE” 167 

When Joe had eaten and drunk, he was strong 
enough to stand and walk. 

“That’s better,” approved Clayton. “A car is wait- 
ing outside for us.” 

Leaning on the man’s arm, the boy left the prison, — 
Sam and Ike snoring loudly all the while, quite un- 
conscious that the object of their abuse was being re- 
moved and that their wages had automatically ended. 

Clayton helped Joe into the car and gave the chauf- 
feur the word. 

While they were speeding across the city, the gen- 
tlemanly rascal unfolded his scheme to the boy : 

“There’s a church on the other side of the town, 
down a little way, that’s just had a fair and cleaned 
up a considerable pile toward the parish debt. The 
money has not been banked. It is in a safe in the 
reception-room of the rectory. I happen to know the 
combination of that safe from one of the servants 
whom the pastor discharged recently and who, con- 
sequently, holds a grudge.” He drew out his purse, 
opened it and brought forth a small piece of paper on 
which the combination was written. From his back 
pocket he produced a tiny flash-light, and, by the small 
white star of it, explained the scrap of paper to Joe. 
When he felt that the boy, who really had not been 
listening at all, perfectly understood, he glibly went 
on : “Now, I want you to go into the rectory with a 
hard luck story, Joe. In a way, I am glad that you 
are so used up, pale and weak, because you will make 
a deep impression on the priest. They are a sympa- 
thetic lot — those priests. Tell him that you just buried 


1 68 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


your mother, and that you are dying on your feet 
yourself. Ask him for a drink of water. He will 
have to go to the pantry away at the back of the house 
for it, because the house-keeper will be in bed by the 
time we get there. It’s late, already. Well, while 
he has gone, you get busy. Jump up, spring the 
combination, and remove the bills, see! It is all just 
as easy as can be, Joe, and it means that to-night 
you’ll be rich. The priest will not think for one 
moment that you have been up to any tricks, when he 
returns with the glass of water. You can talk to him 
for a few moments, and then make a graceful get- 
away. I’ll be waiting out-side with the car and we’ll 
ride straight to the Pennsylvania Station. By to-mor- 
row morning, you’ll be miles away from New York 
and the law. And from now on, no more hardships 
for Joe, but everything money can buy! 

“I had to treat you a trifle harshly, kid, for your 
own good. But now that it all past, and we are going 
to work in harness like a pair of good fellows.” 

Joe did not speak. He stared blankly out the 
window of the car. “Why, here we are,” announced 
Clayton, as the auto slowed down in a side street. “Out 
now, boy, and do your best. The rectory is right on 
your left. Perhaps the priests are in bed, and you 
may have to ring the bell a few times to wake one of 
them up. Good luck ! Don’t be too long. Here is 
the paper with the combination.” 

Joe stepped out of the auto, which the chauffeur dis- 
creetly had halted a short distance away, walked up 
the street with unsteady gait, and ascended the stone 
steps of the rectory. 


“GOD IS LOVE” 


169 


CHAPTER XIX. 

The Meeting. 

F ATHER CARLTON sat alone in his room. He 
had anticipated his Office. The mellow light from 
the gas-lamp streamed down on the little black book 
on the table. He took out his watch from the waist- 
pocket of his cassock. Twelve o’clock ! 

The other priests of the house had retired some- 
time ago. They were fatigued from the busy week 
and the great crowning duty of Saturday-night con- 
fessions. Father Carlton was weary, too, but could 
not rest. His heart was wounded and thorn-entwined. 
This was his last night in New York. To-morrow, 
after the 9:15 Mass, he must return to his station in 
Boston — without having found the brother for whom 
his soul was yearning. He had searched much and 
prayed more. Why were his pleas to Heaven un- 
answered? Would it be always so? If he only had 
Joe, the joy of his priesthood would be complete. He 
could not be happy, thinking of the young brother 
adrift in the rough waves of city life. 

Somewhere in this immense city to-night Joe — poor 
little Joe! — was wandering — alone — 

Father Carlton fell on his knees and covered his 
face with his hands. It was his last — his supreme — 
appeal. Surely Providence could be estranged no 
longer. Surely — 

The bell rang. 


170 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


He rose, dried his eyes, and hurried to answer the 
call. 

Opening the door, he found a white-faced boy, who 
held out his arms to him and swayed. 

“Father, save me !’’ came a tremulous plea. 

The priest slipped his arm over the boy’s shoulder 
and drew him inside. 

The lad fainted. 

Joe had gone through so much during the last few 
days that his appearance was quite altered. His face 
was drawn and peaked; deep circles lay under the 
closed eyes, and the corners of the mouth sagged. Last 
Saturday night, Father Carlton thought that the youth 
stepping under the drop-light in church looked like 
Joe; to-night he was not at all impressed that the boy, 
unconscious in his arms, resembled the youth in the 
church. 

Besides, the hall in which the priest stood was dim. 
A single gas-flame, turned low, flickered from a jet 
high up in the wall. 

Father Carlton, with a murmur of pity, laid the boy 
on a fur rug on the floor. He would telephone to a 
doctor, who, no doubt, would advise an immediate 
removal to a hospital. In the meantime, however, he 
must render first aid to the sick. Kneeling down, he 
opened Joe’s collar to let him breath more freely. In 
doing so, he accidentally unclasped a button of the 
outside shift and a silver gleam rose into his eyes. 
Surprised, he bent closer. 

The boy had a cross around his neck and — and — 

With trembling fingers, Father Carlton drew out 


GOD IS LOVE 


171 

the object and held it up in the glow of the gas-light. 
It sparkled, even as one winter’s night, nine years ago, 
when he fastened it on a small, sleeping boy. — 

With straining eyes he read — his mother’s name — 
“Norah W. Tulley” — glistening in graceful, curved 
letters from the heart of the cross; and beneath, the 
golden sentence gleamed, “God is love.” 

A cry of reverence, awe and joy escaped him. The 
boy in front of him was — must be — Joe ! 

But this could not be! He ran his shaking hand 
across the cold forehead, brushing back the damp, light 
hair. He gazed searchingly, keenly. Yes, yes! The 
boy, sick, wretched, senseless, was Joe ! The features 
were the same, though the city had dealt so cruelly 
with them. 

Joy, intense, overpowering, filled Father Carlton’s 
soul. He scarcely felt the stab in his heart which 
the lad’s manifest misfortune made. That was all 
over now! — the pain, the worry, the longing — all! 
Joe could be nursed back to health, and the streets 
would no longer claim him. From now on, he would 
have a brother to guide him. Out of the night, by 
God’s goodness, had come happiness to Father Fred 
and protection to Joe. Clayton, driving the boy into 
a life of sin, had, through Heaven’s mercy, sent him 
straight to the priestly arms of his brother. 

Father Carlton left Joe’s side only long enough to 
call a doctor on the ’phone. 

Outside, the night life of the great city surged on ; 
for the souls of men are restless, and day-time is not 


172 


THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


big enough for their deeds. In the darkness Satan, 
the spirit of the air, thrives and reigns. 

But in the dimly lit hall-way of the rectory, two lives 
had found peace. For them, the reign of evil was no 
more. 

Joe opened his heavy eyes. He heard one tender 
word: “Brother.” The sound seemed to give him 
sight. For surely the affectionate face above him was 
one that he had known and loved years ago. Was it — 
Fred’s? 

“God sent you to me, Joe,” the elder brother was 
whispering. “For nine years, I’ve hoped and prayed 
for this !” 

“You — Fred — my brother?” the boy exclaimed. “I 
— I can’t believe — or understand it. Why did you 
leave me in that barn so long ago?” 

Raising and holding him to his bosom, Father Carl- 
ton told the story of that winter’s night, the sadness of 
which the Providence of God was now so richly re- 
paying. 

Joe’s arms stole up to his brother’s neck and his 
wet eyes shone and laughed as of old. 

“So you didn’t run away from me, after all, Fred!” 

It was all Joe wanted to know. Pie forgot his past 
sufferings, his present illness, everything ! in the bliss- 
ful realization that his brother had always been true 
to him. 

“Why of course, Joe, I didn’t run away from you !” 
declared Father Fred solemnly, holding the boy more 
firmly, as though he would again slip out of his life. 
“I’d rather have parted with life than with you.” 



With straining eyes, he read his mother’s name — glistening 
in graceful, curved letters from the heart of the cross. 



GOD IS LOVE 


175 


“But Sam Billings said you abandoned me, and the 
thought stuck in my mind, and — and it hurt more than 
anything else. ,, 

“It must have hurt, my poor little brother! I can’t 
help calling you ‘little/ Joe, because I’ve always pic- 
tured you that way — just as you were the last time I 
saw you. But you have grown to be quite a young man, 
and you will be a fine strapping fellow when we in- 
ject a little more health into you. But tell me about 
yourself ; how you happen to be in such a state — and 
about Sam Billings — ” 

Joe had scarcely begun his narrative when the door- 
bell again rang. 

“It must be the doctor,” said Father Fred, jumping 
to his feet. 

But it was not the doctor at all. It was a stout, 
business-like policeman, and he was grasping a certain 
indignant gentleman firmly by the arm. 

“Shure, ’tis beggin’ your pardon I am, Father,” 
spoke up the Irish-American guardian of the law, “but 
this here gintlemen was seen by me a-pakin’ in yure 
winder. I towld him to sthop, but he jist informed me 
to mind me own business. So that’s what I did, grab- 
bin’ him, yure riverince, and r-ringin’ yure bell to find 
out what right the gintleman has to be snakin’ round 
a dacent house about midnight. He’s a suspicious 
ca-rac-ther, yure riverince. I saw him sindin’ a boy 
out of a car a little ways down the sthrate ; he sint him 
right up to this house. Sez I, to meself, ‘Terry, there’s 
some game a-goin’ on.’ And I hid meself in the 
shadows across the sthrate. Well, yure riverince, the 


176 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


boy was gone so long thit himself there gits impatient 
and goes afther him to find out the throuble, and I nabs 
him. He looks to me like the guy that’s wanted at 
headquarthers on siveral charges, but I ain’t sure. 
Excuse me, yure riverince, for sayin’ so much. Now 
what will you have me do with the gintleman?” 

Joe was sitting up and could witness the little scene 
in the doorway. He shook with excitement. 

“That man is Sydney Clayton, officer !” he cried. 
“He kept me locked up for three days to scare me, and 
then sent me here to steal money !” 

“It’s a lie, you young scamp !” roared Clayton, 
struggling in the blue-coat’s grasp. “Officer, he’s try- 
ing to put one over on you. Let me explain — ” 

“Shure, hadn’t you betther mind yure own business, 
misther?” And the blue-coat grinned maliciously at 
the man. “You can have the pleasure of explaining 
in court, I’m a-thinkin’.” 

“But, sir—” 

“Shut up, you shpalpeen!” 

“Is it true, Joe, that this man has so abused you?” 
asked Father Carlton indignantly. “Did he try to 
make a thief out of you ?” 

“Not only me, but others !” answered Joe, with 
spirit. “He has several working for him. He’s a pro- 
fessional crook !” 

“And you are a professional liar !” flung back Clay- 
ton, his face purple with rage. “You assaulted me last 
Saturday night, knocked me down, didn’t you ? Deny 
it if you can. You can’t!” 

“Three cheers, if the laddie hit you !” the hearty of- 


GOD IS LOVE 


177 


ficer cried. “You deserved it, if what he says is true, 
and I’m a-thinkin’ it ain’t false, ayther. And here’s 
another punch ter help along the collection.’’ So 
saying, he gave Clayton an uncomfortable thwack be- 
tween the shoulder-blades which had the effect of 
making that elegant individual realize that there was 
one person in the world — an Irish prop of the law — 
whom he could not deceive. 

“I don’t be likin’ yure fishy eyes, misther,” further 
remarked Terry Flaherty. “And be the green leaves 
of the trees, if there is any villain around here, shure 
’tis yureself. Come along. Yure car is waitin’, sir; 
first sthop, the police-station, sir. You’ll tistify agin 
him, boy? Very well. Yure name? All right. Good- 
night, yure riverince, good-night.” 

The clock in the reception-room struck “One!” A 
new day was beginning for the city, with its millions 
of pains, heart-aches, tears, sighs and joys. A new 
life was dawning for Joe. 

Father Carlton lovingly bore his brother up-stairs 
to his own room and laid him on the bed. There in 
the velvet darkness, he heard his story — his second and 
completest confession. 

The hours flew. The first pink rays of morning, 
straining through the window, lit up the silver cross 
that still lay on Joe’s breast. The priest bowed his 
head and murmured Cowper’s expressive lines : 

“God moves in a mysterious way 
His wonders to perform; 

He plants His footsteps in the sea, 

And rides upon the storm.” 


178 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


CHAPTER XX. 

Conclusion. 

I N the store of Doubley & Co., from which Joe 
had been discharged, interesting events were in 
progress. The well-disposed floor-walker, to whom 
Mr. Winterton had given a detective-license, had been 
quite busy. He noticed that the front of Joe’s coat 
which Mr. Winterton allowed him to retain, was very 
slightly spotted with a gummy substance around one 
of the button-holes. Paying a visit to Marie’s ribbon- 
counter, while the young lady was out to lunch, he 
discovered that some of the goods which she had un- 
rolled to display to customers, that morning of the 
diamond theft, was also faintly stained. Next, going 
to the jewelry department, he had Miss Cherry show 
him the three recovered gems. Yes — just as he ex- 
pected, or rather suspected — there were traces of the 
same stickiness on the diamonds. Miss Cherry told 
him that Marie had been at the jewelry-counter 
Thurs. morning, talking. “Stealing, perhaps,” explained 
the floor-walker, sliding his tongue into his cheek. 

So to the man’s mind the case was clear. Joe was 
not the thief, but the girl ! 

When she laughingly returned from lunch, never 
anticipating what awaited her, she was summoned to 
Mr. Doubley’s office. Surprised, she nevertheless put 
on a bold face; and, confronted with her guilt, she 


GOD IS LOVE 


179 


denied everything emphatically. But it did her no 
good, for her offense was too plain. At last, threatened 
with a prison sentence, she broke down and admitted 
that she had done the wrong. Cross-questioned, she 
confessed that Sydney Clayton was her evil genius. 
When asked what relation the man bore her, she 
further confessed that he was her brother. 

Mr. Winterton insisted on knowing more about this 
Clayton person; and the girl, unstrung and sobbing, 
told almost enough to send him to jail for the rest of 
his life. 

“Where can we find him? ,, asked Mr. Winterton. 
“To think that such scoundrels are at large ! We will 
see that the law handles him !” 

But by this time, Marie was a little more composed, 
and quite regretful that she had said so much. 

“I don’t know where he is,” she snapped, as she 
dabbed her eye with her handkerchief. 

And, try as he would, the gentleman could get no 
more information from her. 

But he telephoned to police head-quarters, told all 
Marie’s story, and gave a description of the man. The 
Chief insisted that the girl be held as a witness to 
testify against Sydney Clayton in the event of his 
being captured. So, though Doubley & Co. refused 
to prosecute the misguided girl for theft, she had to 
go for a brief stay to prison. 

When Officer Flaherty took Clayton, the criminal, 
into the police-station at 1 115 A. M., Sunday, and 
Marie identified him as her brother Sydney — well, 
Terry Flaherty was easily the man of the hour. 


i8o THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


His Chief gave him a slap on the shoulder and pumped 
his hand with vigor — which is the greatest of com- 
pliments, coming from a chief; and Terry’s grin was 
as a sun-rise. 

* * * * * * 

To-day Sydney Clayton is clothed like a zebra, and 
dwells behind stern brick walls, where he can no longer 
prey on his fellow-men. Father Fred has taken the 
man’s unfortunate sister in hand and placed her under 
the care of some gentle nuns, whose holy influence 
bids fair to win her entirely from the ways of the 
world. 

Mrs. Billings was rejoiced to see her boy again. As 
she expressed herself to Father Fred with teary eyes 
and shaky voice, happiness put new life into her old 
heart and simply wouldn’t let her die. As a matter of 
fact, she began to recover. Joe remained with her 
several hours each day, until she was able to leave the 
hospital. 

To Boston and Father Fred, Joe brought her; and 
the priest, in turn, led them both to his foster-mother 
— the white-haired, sad-eyed Rosa. The latter im- 
mediately liked the boy ; so did Doctor Campbell. 

“Rosa, my dear,” said he, “we need a son, now that 
God has taken Louis and Fred to His special service. 
How about Joe?” The good lady’s face shone with 
pleasure at the suggestion. 

“Will you come to live with us, and be our boy?” 
she asked our young friend, holding out her hands to 
him. “I want to do for you what I once promised the 
Mother of God to do for Fred, but which circum- 


GOD IS LOVE 


181 


stances restrained me from doing — fully. I want to 
send you to college and help you toward your life- 
work. May the Doctor and I do this for you, dear 
lad? You know, you owe me this privilege; because 
it was I who unfortunately and unconsciously separ- 
ated you from your brother, nearly ten years ago.” 

Joe's heart immediately went out to this sweet-faced 
lady with the appealing eyes, in which there was now a 
gleam of hope and happiness. Her goodness thrilled 
him. The splendor of her offer awed him. But he 
did not forget for a single moment the frail, pale 
woman at his side, who had been his only friend in the 
dark, dark days. 

“I thank you,” he assured Rosa, his eyes shining 
with earnestness, and his voice trembling slightly. 
“I thank you and the gentleman kindly. But Mrs. 
Billings here, ma-am, she's been everything to me and 
I’ve been everything to her. Seems as though God 
just gave her back to me out of the jaws of death, so 
I could be kind to her and try to make up to her for 
being so good to me. I can't ever leave her, ma'am.” 

He took Mrs. Billings’ thin hand in his own, and 
looked with affection into her face. Tears of joy at 
his faifthfulness were trickling down her cheeks. 

“God bless you, Joe !” she cried. “But don't let me 
be standin' in your way. Heaven knows I only want 
what is best for you, and I'd never be content unless 
I knew you had it. So ferget me, Joe, and hold on to 
your fine chance.” 

“I'll never forget you !” he protested, squeezing 
her hand. “And I can't — just can't — leave you.” 


1 82 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


Rosa stepped forward and took Mrs. Billings’ other 
hand. “The invitation to live here is for you, my good 
woman, as well as for Joe.” “Is it not?” she added, 
turning to her husband. 

“Certainly, certainly,” he warmly agreed. “Mrs. 
Billings will be just as welcome as Joe. We could 
never think of drawing him from her.” 

Father Carlton’s countenance was radiant with hap- 
piness. Joe and the foster-mother would now be ex- 
cellently provided for, all the rest of their days. The 
past would be only a bad memory. The future was 
filled with sunshine and flowers. One glittering 
sentence kept turning in his mind : “God is love ; God 
is love.” 

“You will come?” asked Rosa of the woman and 
boy. 

They smiled their consent and gratitude. 

“So that is settled,” said Rosa, brightly. To Father 
Carlton, she remarked, “Joe is about the age you 
were, dear Fred, when you came into my life. And he 
looks just as you did then. It seems as though Time 
has turned back the hands of his great clock over nine 
whole years. Somehow I feel just as light-hearted and 
happy as I did then — now that I have a young life to 
direct and cherish!” 

“Father Louis and I have been praying hard for 
your happiness,” said Father Fred. “At last our 
prayers seem fully answered.” 

Rosa reverently nodded. The Doctor did likewise. 
He was a changed man in every way. By smiting his 


GOD IS LOVE 183 

body (the accident had left him an invalid), God had 
healed his soul. 

* * * * * * 

Today, Joe is the legally adopted son of the Camp- 
bells, and a clean-cut, high-minded, young Catholic 
gentleman. He has constantly fostered his sentiments 
toward Mrs. Billings, who is a most fervent soul and 
spends three-fourths of her time storming Heaven for 
her dear boy’s spiritual and material welfare. He has 
brought the lives of his new parents closely together 
with a bond of interest and affection. With their per- 
mission, he occasionally takes a trip to New York 
with Father Fred, and there seeks out and aids some 
of his companions of the old days to higher things. 
Mr. Winterton, of course, is again his fast friend ; and 
many a delightful day has he spent in the gentlemen’s 
home on the Hudson. 

Brick Shanley, through Joe’s influence, has turned 
over a new leaf and secured a respectable position in 
a Boston office. He is a weekly communicant. Sam 
Billings, though hard to change, for the wasted years 
had formed a thick crust around his soul, was at last 
won by the prayers of his good wife and Father 
Carlton’s efforts. They found him in the depths, but 
placed him pretty securely on the way to the heights. 
He is now a practical Catholic and fills the position 
of gardener on the Campbell estate. 

Thus life has assumed the color of the rose for all 
our friends. Its rough waves have grown mild, as if 
in obedience to the bidding of Him Who stilled the 
storm on the Sea of Galilee. And Father Carlton, each 


184 THE TALE OF TWO BROTHERS 


night, before retiring, draws aside the window-curtains 
and gazes long and fixedly at the skies. If they be 
black and red-forked with lightning, or calm and 
agleam with stars, it makes no difference ! — he takes a 
silver cross from the bosom of his cassock, holds it 
tenderly, and whispers to his soul the mystic truth, 


“GOD IS LOVE r 


THE BRAVE COWARD 


THE BRAVE COWARD 


P EDRO ranked as the hardest problem that ever 
confronted the good Sisters of San Rosalie’s. He 
was the essence of mischief. It sparkled in his great 
black eyes, bade the world defiance in the slight up-turn 
of his little nose, and dropped like an excess of elec- 
tricity from the tips of his restless fingers. Indeed, 
Father Francesco was known to have nodded his white 
head on more than one occasion and solemnly re- 
marked: “Pedro is of exceptional boyishness. If he 
ever accomplishes a serious act, it will be the death of 
him.” 

To the priest’s hearers these words sounded very 
puzzling. Nothing but kindness ever fell from those 
saintly old lips. Surely, the gentle Father would not 
be uncharitable to little Pedro alone! Yet either such 
was precisely the case, or a keen significance that 
pierced the future lay in his oft-repeated remark. The 
gift of prophecy is indicated by rare sanctity; and 
Father Francesco’s many admirers reverently declared 
that he could compare with some of the greatest saints 
of the calendar. 

But there was slender likelihood of an early death 
for Pedro ; that is, if cheeks which would put poppies 
to shame and nimbleness that would rival a grasshop- 
per are strong assurances of a long life. So the natural 
belief was that he would never do a serious thing. 
For variety’s refreshing sake, the nuns sometimes re- 


1 88 


THE BRAVE COWARD 


versed the opinion by saying that, since the frisky 
youngster was never apt to do a serious thing, he 
would never die. 

The looms of Fate, however, were working fast, 
weaving a fine refutation of the current opinion about 
Pedro. It all began ingloriously, this refutation; just 
as the bright, silken texture, worthy to become a 
queen's robe, is at first the humble cocoon of a humbler 
worm. It had that lowly beginning of all great moral 
reform: shame. 

Sister Dolores' nerves were “on edge” that particu- 
lar afternoon. Snow — and who does not know what 
it means to children? — started to fall about three 
o’clock. Session would have to hold until four. But 
from once the grey sky began to drop its fleecy white- 
ness, order in the class-room was doomed. Visions of 
sleds, snow-shoes, snow-battles, snow-houses, and 
snow-men promptly usurped the more immediate and 
important realities of text-books, black-boards, and 
Sister Dolores’ sweet voice pleading for “just a little 
more attention, dear children, to class matters.” 

If malice towards Pedro could ever have won en- 
trance into Sister Dolores’ meek heart, that afternoon 
would have witnessed the success of the siege. He 
revelled in his worst. Charged from head to toe with 
the mischief begotten of happy anticipations, he stuck 
sly pins into the small girl in front of him ; dipped the 
tip of her flaxen braid in his ink-well and adroitly ap- 
plied the besmirched tress to the ruddy cheek of the 
fat boy beside him; manufactured sundry “spit-balls” 
and disposed of them with a speed and accuracy that 


THE BRAVE COWARD 


189 


were nothing short of remarkable ; “ducked” under his 
desk and consumed no less than three dill pickles, an 
orange, and a stick of peppermint; and finally dis- 
tinguished himself for all time by snuffing red ink up 
his nostrils and cheerfully requesting of his amazed 
teacher an immediate release from class for the relief 
of his “nose-bleed.” 

There was no apparent end to Sister Dolores’ pa- 
tience. But this last exploit very nearly created one. 
Of course, she readily detected Pedro’s joke, realizing 
that the blood of such boys as he must be several 
shades redder than Carter’s crimson fluid. 

“Instead of an immediate dismissal,” she informed 
him, with a quiet emphasis and dignity which caused 
her a supreme effort, “you will stay here for half an 
hour after the other children have departed.” 

The words struck Pedro like a blow. Thirty minutes 
of the snowily glorious afternoon forfeited! It was 
unjust, mean, shameful. He hadn’t done anything bad. 
But wisely mindful that verbal protest might bring 
about a lengthening of the already terrible penalty, he 
independently tossed his legs, lolled back in the hard- 
wood chair, scowled, riffled the pages of his copy-book, 
and lapsed into a sullen quietude which, by its unnatur- 
alness, pained Sister Dolores’ tenderness more than he 
imagined. 

Somehow four o’clock came, and the scholars went ; 
all except Pedro. 

When the door closed on the last, whooping, skip- 
ping, little hater of knowledge, Sister Dolores, for the 
moment forgetful of Pedro’s huddled and impatient 


190 


THE BRAVE COWARD 


presence in the rear of the room, sank helplessly into 
the swivel chair behind her desk, rested her forearms 
on some miserable English compositions which her 
pupils had submitted for her inspection, breathed hard, 
and, letting the irksome garb of heroism drop from her 
slender shoulders, did the most natural thing in the 
world : began to cry. 

Dull afternoons make even life seem dark. She felt 
weary beyond measure. Unhappiness had never be- 
fore swooped upon her in such abundance. Her over- 
wrought feelings, wrenching her heart like cruel 
fingers, made it impossible for her eyes to scorn the 
emblems of weakness. And once those tears, so long 
and bravely held back, had secured an outlet, they 
rolled down her pale cheeks so plentifully that a big 
grammatical error which tauntingly stared up at her 
from Pedro’s out-spread exercise, mercifully blurred. 

Sister Dolores was too young and frail to be perfect 
mistress of her sentiments in private. Her generous 
heart burned with a desire to accomplish great things 
for the Master. But failure alone seemed to mark her 
efforts. The class was so contentedly stupid, so care- 
less of her schemes for its betterment, so heedless to 
her kindliest persuasions! If only one of her pupils 
were different from the rest — only one ! They differed 
merely in degrees of unruliness and unresponsiveness. 
Pedro was king. 

At the thought of his kingship, the remembrance of 
his presence occurred to her. She hastily brushed away 
the mist of tears and looked to the rear of the room. 
He was not there. Had he crowned his evil record 


THE BRAVE COWARD 


191 

by sneaking away? Well, that was just what one 
might expect — 

“Here I am,” whispered a highly sympathetic, little 
voice at her elbow. Her sadness had actually touched 
and led him to her side. 

Raising to her face a pair of timid, liquid, black 
eyes, from which every spark of mischief had vanished, 
he earnestly, if crudely, avowed his sorrow for having 
contributed to her woes. 

Sister Dolores was as much pleased as surprised at 
this signal proof that the heart of her small “bad’’ boy 
was far from being a stone. His apology acted as 
Balm of Gilead to the ache in her bosom. Taking his 
two brown hands in hers, she gazed at him long, wist- 
fully and silently. He squirmed guiltily, slightly drew 
back, and hung his head. 

“Pedro.” 

He timidly raised his lashes. 

“Pedro, your heart is good. You can feel. But alas ! 
you can also forget. Pedro, you are frivolous. If you 
would try to be serious, you would become the best 
of boys, and I the happiest of teachers. Pedro, don’t 
you know you — hurt me?” 

The head with its shock of crisp black curls low- 
ered further, and two great sparkling tears, oozing 
from the dark eyes, trembled on the long lashes. 

“It is not so much for my own sake that I plead 
with you, Pedro,” continued Sister Dolores. Her 
voice shook. “It is for yours and God’s. If you are 
a good boy, you honor Him; if you honor Him, you 
please your superiors. But it is the conviction that 


192 


THE BRAVE COWARD 


He is not being duly honored by you and that the fault 
must in some way be mine, which makes me feel so 
bad. Pedro, you do not dislike me?” 

The curly head shook an intense “No.” 

“Then won’t you do as I advise? Won’t you"T)e 
serious ?” 

Silence profound, while Pedro shifted his weight 
from one foot to the other. The clock ticked away 
three distressful minutes. 

Realizing with a pang that no promise was forth- 
coming, Sister Dolores gave a deep sigh, dropped her 
eyelids, and merely said, “You may go.” 

The little figure hurriedly shambled out of the room. 
The nun’s chin sank on her bosom, and Pedro’s English 
outrage again blurred. 

Had she arisen and watched him from the window, 
she might have found much solace in the fact that he 
did not bother in the least about the already thickly 
fallen and still rapidly falling snow, which had so ex- 
cited his brain all afternoon, but solemnly trudged 
through the drifts as if pondering the most weighty 
of situations. 

What a coward he felt he must be to have made 
good Sister Dolores cry! How “game” she was to 
take all the blame of his badness on herself ! Shame, 
bitter and plenteous, welled up in his throat, choked, 
and made him swallow hard. 

Snow continued to fall even when daylight yielded 
to the gloom of evening. There seemed to be no limit 
to the feathery output of the darkling skies. But the 
picturesqueness of the storm had become forgotten in 


THE BRAVE COWARD 


193 


the fearfulness; for excessive cold, carried on the 
wings of the wind from the circle of mountains which 
hemmed in San Croix, equipped the flakes with deadli- 
ness. 

Night, like a sheeted ghost in distraction, began to 
brood over the town, now moaning bitterly, now shriek- 
ing hideously, and always clutching about with icy 
fingers, vengefully to snatch away the life of any one 
who dared defy her presence by being abroad. 

The good people lit their blessed candles and shook 
their heads. Seldom had the North-west been visited 
by more terrific evidence of winter’s might. 

Thank God, the whole town was safely sheltered 
under goodly roofs, with the cheering warmth of blaz- 
ing, crackling, chuckling hearths ! 

The whole town? 

No ; one, the most beloved of all the twenty thousand 
inhabitants, was out in the night, — venerable Father 
Francesco. He had left San Croix that after-noon to 
administer the last rites to a dying woodsman whose 
log-cabin stood on the farther side of the now snow- 
laden loop of mountains. He was to have returned by 
evening, and so, likely, had been waylaid by the perils 
of the magically laid drifts and the low drop in tem- 
perature. 

The nuns of San Rosalie’s were full of apprehension 
and uneasiness. Kneeling under the flickering glow 
of the sanctuary-lamp in the little chapel, they prayed, 
hour after hour, for the safety of the aged clergyman 
whom they loved as only angelic spiritual daughters 
can. Could Heaven refuse ear to their unabating 


194 


THE BRAVE COWARD 


fervor or eye to their holy faces, white and tear-stained 
with fear and pity? 

If Father Francesco had lost his way in the blinding, 
whirling, freezing snow, the night could not but have 
an easy victim. The old priest’s eyes were dim ! 

Would no one offer to defy the storm and lead him 
home? 

Rattling icy blasts laughed the very idea to scorn. 
The most courageous did not dare set foot beyond the 
confines of the town, much less ascend and cross the 
snow-swept ridge. It were folly even to dream of 
saving another on that night of nights, when Death 
spread its frigid claws on the mountain sides, crouched 
awaiting like a wild beast, fascinated the eye with its 
grey-white maze, and lent its fangs to every sweep of 
wind ! 

But perhaps, after all, the good man, foreseeing Hie 
severity of the storm, had not ventured on a return 
trip, but remained snug and secure in the shack. Such 
was the fond hope and trust with which the town en- 
deavored to comfort itself. 

Before midnight, a new intelligence became rife 
among the people who still warded off sleep in their 
concern about Father Francesco: little Pedro was 
missing. 

He had slipped away from home most secretly; it 
was only when his mother went to his bedroom to 
bestow her usual good-night kiss that his absence was 
discovered. 

She was frantic. Through her extreme grief, how- 
ever, there struggled up in her bosom a tender emotion 


THE BRAVE COWARD 


195 


of pride. With the intuition of mother-hood, she had 
guessed the cause of his disappearance ! 

Just as the “iron tongue of midnight” was telling 
twelve, a weak knock at the convent door, barely 
audible through the mad screams of the blizzard, 
distracted the nervous Sisters from their praying. 
The portress arose from the cold stone sanctuary and 
hastened to answer the queer and untimely call. 

When she opened the heavy oak door, an in-rushing 
swirl of wind wrenched her veil, covered her from 
head to foot with silvery powder, stung her face, and 
for the moment blinded her. A quivering little voice 
fell on her sensitive ear: 

“Quick, Sister. He’s in the bottom of the shay — 
unconscious — Father Francesco. Maybe I was too 
late. Hurry, please.” 

The nun uttered a cry of astonishment. It was 
Pedro, scarcely recognizable, who spoke. He stood 
enveloped in a suit of snow; his small, eerie face was 
ashen and blue in irregular spots ; his eyes, red-rimmed, 
burned like points of fire; his hands were frozen a 
frightful black ; his lips were terrible. 

“I saw the light of the sanctuary-lamp a long way 
off,” he tried to tell her. “It — it led me. This was 
the nearest place to bring him. He — ” 

The chattering teeth would permit no further speech. 
Gurgling, the benumbed little hero swayed a moment 
and then sank to the floor. 

The other nuns, drawn by the portress’ cry, now 
filled the corridor. While some of them tenderly ad- 


196 


THE BRAVE COWARD 


ministered to Pedro, the others carried the limp body 
of the aged priest. 

Doctors were hastily summoned. 

They worked diligently over the two stark bodies 
for the remainder of the night. 

Toward morning, Father Francesco was restored, 
thanks to the wonderful vitality with which years of 
self-denial and regularity had endowed him. 

Anxiety for the good clergyman having been allayed, 
it became all the intenser for Pedro. The group about 
his couch, now increased by his mother and a number 
of the townsfolk, watched the little form swathed in 
blankets, awaiting the slightest indication of returning 
consciousness. At last a loud murmur of thanks arose, 
for those firmly closed eyelids slightly stirred, trembled, 
and then parted. 

While the fire of intelligence was kindling in the 
dark orbs, the locked lips also began to open. “Sister 
Dolores,” he finally whispered. 

“Here I am, Pedro. ,, The nun knelt beside him and 
rested her soft hand on his moist brow. 

“I tried to save our padre,” he quavered, “not only 
because I love him, but because I wanted to make up 
to you, for being a coward. I never knew that I was a 
coward until I saw that I made you cry. The snow 
and wind were awful, but I guess God must’ve led me 
to the place where Father Francesco had fallen out of 
the carriage. I — I don’t know how I got him in again. 
But I felt so strong — then. His horse was standin’ 
neighing alongside him, like a good old scout, when 
I found him. Is — is our padre all right?” 


THE BRAVE COWARD 


197 


“Yes, dear child. God combined a great miracle 
with your bravery.’* 

A smile of satisfaction flitted across his pinched 
little face. 

“Sister Dolores.” 

“Yes, Pedro.” 

“I just didn’t dare promise you I’d be serious, be- 
cause I wasn’t sure that I could be.” 

The nun thrilled with the honesty and simplicity of 
this boyish confession. 

“But you aren’t any more pained with me?” he 
eagerly questioned. 

“Pained?” she echoed. “Ah, Pedro, I’m proud, in- 
expressibly proud. And your Father in Heaven is 
honored — honored.” 

The boy’s mother now claimed his attention. She 
feverishly kissed his white cheek into some likeness of 
its former rosiness. And he struggled from out of the 
heavy blankets to twine his arms about her neck. 

The doctors called aside Father Delmare, the curate, 
and whispered some advice. 

All were startled when the young priest stepped back 
and requested them to leave the boy alone with him for 
a short time. Their hopes vanished. They realized 
the grim meaning of the request. 

Fifteen minutes later the couch was again sur- 
rounded. The heart-broken parent sobbed bitterly. 

“My mother,” spoke the little fellow softly, “if I 
stayed here, perhaps I couldn’t be serious any more. 
I want to be good, and I guess it won’t be hard not to 


198 


THE BRAVE COWARD 


be bad up there. Don’t cry, dear. Aren’t you willin’ 
to let me go with God ?” 

'‘Yes, yes, my Pedro,” she passionately answered, 
burying her face in the pillow, close to his cold ear. 
“He deserves you far more than I.” 

The innocent soul of the child gleamed triumphantly 
for a moment from the great, dusky eyes. Then, dis- 
engaging itself without an effort from its youthful 
covering, it gently fell into the invisible angelic hands 
that awaited to bear it to Jesus* bosom. 

With one masterly sweep, little Pedro had cleared 
his life of every blame and filled it with nobleness. 
Father Francesco’s oft-repeated assertion thus proved 
to be, not an unkindness, but a real prophecy, perhaps 
born of his knowledge of the boy’s splendid generosity, 
perhaps inspired by Heaven. But whatever the source 
of the presage, the solemn truth rang clear, — Pedro’s 
first serious act was the death of him. Yet what a 
glorious death — unselfish like Christ’s ! 

In the heart of the little cemetery nestling on the 
mountain-side, is a small grave, bearing a marble cross. 
There the first violets of spring rear their purple, dew- 
jeweled heads ; there the birds of the wood-land gather 
to carol their sweetest lays; and there every evening, 
when the Angelus is sprinkling blessings upon San 
Croix and the sun is flooding the west with crimson 
glory, comes and kneels a tottering white-haired priest. 

“Dear little son,” he murmurs, as he presses his lips 
to the grassy mound, “I will soon be with you. The 
day is ending, and I, too, am going Home.” 


TWO MOTHERS 



TWO MOTHERS 


F ATHER O’LEARY had visited both mothers, and 
he carried away some strong impressions. The 
attitudes of the women differed intensely. It was 
for their sons that the priest had spoken — Eddie Lee 
and Barney McManus. Chums and altar-boys they 
had been from the day Sister Dorothy took their tiny 
hands and led them into the vestry. They were so 
small then that her scissors and skill were sore-tired 
to cut down a couple of scarlet cassocks to a suitable 
appearance and fit. Since then, they had been faith- 
ful servers at Mass, and, from the original little 
cherubs, had developed into good-sized, good-looking 
youths of fifteen. They were now thinking of the 
future, and had made up their minds. They wanted 
to be like their pastor. They wanted daily to draw 
down the Holy One with the mighty words of Con- 
secration. They wanted to be priests. 

Father O’Leary had been watching them with lov- 
ing interest for some time. He liked the straight, 
clear light in their eyes — the quality that Hoffman 
put in the gaze of his “Boy Jesus at the Age of 
Twelve.” Their reverence for the Blessed Sacrament 
was deep. Their ringing laughter at and in the proper 
time and places was proof sufficient of a good con- 
science and a keen enjoyment of life. To the care- 
ful and discerning priest, they were just the kind of 
lads to be molded into excellent ministers of God — 


202 


TWO MOTHERS 


normal, cheerful, pious. He was not surprised, but 
much pleased, the day they told him, in the holy calm 
of the confessional, about Jesus’ whispering to their 
souls the sweet invitation, “Come, follow Me.” He 
congratulated them, and promised to do all in his 
power to help them. They requested him to approach 
their respective families and gain the parental consent. 

It was the Lees to whom Father O’Leary went 
first. Here was a household with ambitions. With- 
in the past year, real lace curtains had been achieved 
by the parlor windows, an ell added onto the kitchen, 
and a spic piazza attached to the front of the dwell- 
ing. Mr. Lee was now receiving fair wages as book- 
keeper in Almy’s haberdashery, and Mrs. Lee could 
be a little better than fair manager. They would 
have been comfortable long before this, were it not 
for sickness. Mr. Lee’s lungs were not of the strong- 
est, and Mrs. Lee’s “nerves” frequently necessitated 
a dismal period abed. But at present everything was 
as smooth as cream. Not for months had the old 
cough bothered the husband, nor the nerves the wife. 
Several entries had been made in the bank-book. 
Heaven was in sight until — Father O’Leary darkened 
the door-way. 

Mrs. Lee was a tall, handsome woman, with disap- 
pointment written in light wrinkles on her forehead. 
She had been fond of the world in her day, and 
often marvelled to herself and her intimate friends 
that, out of many sparkling suitors, she should have 
chosen Richard Lee, the one least fitted to shine in 
business and society. She was frank in her admission 


TWO MOTHERS 


203 


that her supposed love for Richard was mere girlish 
folly. But the affection which she withheld from the 
father, was lavished on the son. It spoke wondrously 
well for Eddie that she had not succeeded in spoiling 
him. 

The morning Father O’Leary called, Mrs. Lee was 
seated in a rocker on the sun-swept porch, reading a 
“best-seller.” It was Monday, but of late the lady 
consigned her cares to the wet-wash and a hired girl. 

“Time that I should get a little ease out of life,” 
was her sharp opinion. 

She rose with a show of dignity, gave her hand 
to the priest, and motioned him to the opposite chair. 

“Eve come to see you with regard to Edward, 
Mrs. Lee,” explained Father O’Leary. “He’s a good 
boy, and ” 

“Indeed he is, Father. So superior in so many 
ways to his father! I really don’t know what I’d 
ever do without him, he’s such a comfort !” 

“Could you give him up, if ” 

“Of course I couldn’t give him up! Why do you 
even suggest it?” 

“Wouldn’t you yield him over even — to God?” 

“What nonsense are you talking, Father?” said 
Mrs. Lee in tones of thinly veiled irritation. 

“Your son wishes to be a priest.” 

The woman’s face blanched. For a second her fist 
balled and the knuckles were white. Then, with 
a toss of the head, she expressed herself : 

“Edward’s duty is to me, Father O’Leary. I risked 


204 


TWO MOTHERS 


my life to bring him into the world. I reared him. 
And now that he’s old enough to be a help and com- 
fort to me, I’m not going to allow an idle whim to 
draw him away from me. Every youngster who ever 
served at the altar wanted, at one time or other, to be 
a priest. Merely a boy’s enthusiasm, Father, that’s 
all!” She snapped her fingers. “God wants my boy 
to do his duty by me, his mother. Surely, as a priest, 
you can recognize this plain fact.” 

“How about your boy’s duty to his Father — his 
heavenly Father?” suggested Father O’Leary mildly, 
though a line of pain and perplexity was on his 
brow. “Like Christ, he should be about his Father’s 
business. And, like Mary, should you not keep all 
these things patiently in your heart? True, you have 
rights, Mrs. Lee, and cannot help feeling them. But 
God has deeper ones; and, before His, yours cease. 
He gave up His Only-begotten Son. Dare we rebel 
at the call of sacrifice?” 

Mrs. Lee’s finger-tips played with the hem of her 
sleeve. Her eye-lashes flickered, and a pout came 
to her rather pretty lips. 

“I — I think it’s cruel of you, Father O’Leary, io 
come here and — and bully me with religion,” she 
protested. “True religion was meant to heal hearts 
and not to break them. Christ spent His life in bring- 
ing consolation to men. You, as His representative, 
should do the same.” 

The color slightly mounted to Father O’Leary’s 
cheek. He was piqued at the woman’s inaccurate 
idea of the Christian dispensation. Christianity with' 


TWO MOTHERS 


205 


out a cross ! — that was evidently her desire and be- 
lief. But there is no Christianity without a cross. 
The priest shook his head. 

“I came not to bring peace, but the sword,” he 
slowly quoted. “If anyone will come after Me, let 
him take up his cross and follow Me. He who loves 
father and mother more than Me, is not worthy of 
Me ” 

Mrs. Lee gathered up her book haughtily, and rose : 

“Kindly pardon me, Father,” she requested icily. 
“My head is aching. And, really, your — er — Scrip- 
tural onslaught is too much for me. Good morning.” 

Father O’Leary sighed and started to go. But his 
love for Eddie, and his desire to do his best for the boy, 
inspired him to make one last attempt : 

“If you give your boy to God, Mrs. Lee,” he spoke, 
as gently as he could, “He will give him back to you 
— a priest.” 

It was no use. She had turned away from him. 
The priest was quivering with indignation. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Lee.” 

“Good morning.” 

But the brightness had gone out of the morning for 
Father O’Leary. He was chilled at the unreason- 
ing and unreasonable selfishness of the woman. He 
was pained at the thought of the disappointment which 
the news would give Eddie. For the son fully re- 
turned the mother’s extravagant affection, and, for 
him, her slightest wish had always been law. 

Main Street was bright and fragrant with spring- 
time. From the many orchards on both sides, a rosy 


20 6 


TWO MOTHERS 


rain of apple blossoms would fall with every gentle 
sweep of breeze, and birds fluttered busily in every 
direction. But the priest’s eye, well trained to per- 
ceive and appreciate the beauties of Nature, did not 
see now, for his heart was sad. 

Into one of the meaner little cottages down the 
street he turned. It had no lace curtains on the par- 
lor windows, nor an ell to the kitchen. It needed 
paint badly, and a new roof worse. But a chestnut 
tree, snowy with bloom, hung lovingly over it and the 
sound of childish mirth tinkled gaily through it. It 
was the McManus household. 

In response to the priest’s knock, a dark-haired 
child with a Tipperary twinkle in her eye and a 
Tipperary tilt to a mite of nose, opened the door and 
sprang, with a cry of gladness, into his arms. This 
was Moira, the eldest daughter of the family of eight ; 
and she was only twelve. The rest of the McManus 
children were in the back yard or on the stairway. 
The lady of the castle — stout Mrs. McManus herself 
— was too busy to bother where. There was no wet- 
wash nor hired girl for her. Out in the kitchen, 
her capable arms were at present up to the elbows 
in soap-suds and the honest sweat was beading her 
red face. 

“G’ mornin’, Father!” greeted the voices from the 
stairway, as four pairs of young feet scampered down 
towards the visitor. 

In a flurry, Mrs. McManus dried her hands in her 
apron and, as full of apologies as excitement, hurried 
to the entry: 


TWO MOTHERS 


207 


“Oh, the cut of me, yer reverence!” she cried. 
“But , tis Monday morning, and up to my eyes in 
work I am! You’ll pardon my looks, Father.” 

“Of course, child,” smiled the priest. “I’d have 
my own opinion of you, Eileen McManus, if you 
weren’t busy on Monday morning.” He was think- 
ing of the languid Mrs. Lee. 

“Won’t ye be havin’ a cup of tea, Father O’Leary? 
Here, Patsy, run to the store for a pound of sugar. 
Mary, dust off that chair for his reverence ” 

With a sigh of satisfaction, the clergyman seated 
himself near the window. This was home, humble 
but satisfying to one of simple, homely tastes. Father 
O’Leary was a people’s priest. He loved the least 
of his children the most. 

“It’s about the boy, Barney, I’ve come,” he an- 
nounced. 

“Has he got into any mischief, now, Father?” the 
mother asked quickly. 

“No, indeed. He’s a very good boy, Eileen.” 

“Yes, that’s true, Father. But ye never can be 
telling nowadays ” 

“Oh, you Irish mothers!” laughed the priest. “If 
your sons were veritable angels, you’d want them to 
be yet a little more angelic.” 

“ ’Tis more of the divvil than the angel that the 
young ones do be havin’ in them these days, Father. 
Mickey, stop pullin’ Moira’s hair, and all of ye quit 
crowdin’ around his reverence so ” 

“Eileen, you’ve had rather a hard struggle with 
life, haven’t you? I remember when you were an 


208 


TWO MOTHERS 


apple-cheeked, laughing-eyed little colleen over the sea, 
with never a care in the world. Yet how bravely 
and well you have borne all the trials that have come 
to you since then! And now I’m going to call on 
you to make one last big sacrifice ” 

“What, Father ?” 

“Your boy, Eileen ?” 

“Barney?” 

“Yes, Eileen. God wants him. Barney wants to be 
a priest!” 

The mother’s eyes stared wide, and her trembling 
hand sought her breast, grasping the folds of her 
cheap calico wrapper. Suddenly she dropped into a 
chair, flung her apron over head, and shook with deep 
sobs. 

The priest was struck with pity. He rose, and softly 
patted her on the heaving shoulder. 

“I didn’t think you’d take it so hard as this, 
Eileen,” he confessed, with, sadness. “I knew it 
would be hard for you to give Barney up, now that 
he’s old enough to get a job and lighten your labors 
for you ” 

“’Tain’t that — ’tain’t that, Father,” stuttered the 
mother, through her emotion. “’Tain’t grief at all 
that’s — that’s hurting me. The thought of it — the 
thought of it! My baby — my boy! standin’ at the 
Altar of the Lord, sayin’ his first Mass! Oh, Father, 
what hurts me and makes me blubber away like — 
like an old fool — ain’t anything but pure joy — and 
thankfulness !” 

Father O’Leary’s eyes were wet. 


TWO MOTHERS 


209 


The sun shed a shaft of powdered gold through 
the kitchen window. The birds, hopping on the fra- 
grant blossomed boughs, filled the morning with a 
fair melody. To the priest, the music of the day 
was richly restored. He had found a mother per- 
fectly attuned with her Maker — one who, like the 
greatest and sweetest of Mothers, Mary, bowed her 
head in an ecstasy of thrills and wonders at the 
Divine Will, saying, “Be it done unto me according 
to Thy word.” Unlike Mrs. Lee, Eileen McManus 
was amazed to be chosen, and delighted, even at any 
sacrifice, to become the mother of another Christ. 

♦ * * * * * * 

Eleven years after, all roads led to Northern France. 
Not satisfied with his absolute rule on the Continent, 
Mars was stretching his grim hand across the Atlantic 
and seizing our own young men for the fray. Eddie 
Lee’s mother, terrified, was grappling her boy to 
her heart with “hooks of steel.” But, just the same, 
the first draft succeeded in tearing him away. She 
who refused to give him to the Church, now had no 
choice in surrendering him to the State. Her soul 
was raw and bleeding, the day he bade her good-bye. 

Three months later, in No Man’s Land, they met — 
Father McManus and his pal of altar-boy days. 
Though night had come on, German fire was still 
tearing over the scarred face of the earth and, as the 
smoke here and there lifted, the pale moon gleam- 
ingly revealed pools of blood and — worse. 

Eddie Lee, wounded, had crawled back near enough 
to the trench to be seen by Father McManus. Brav- 
ing the danger of shells, the priest went to the stricken 


210 


TWO MOTHERS 


man’s aid. It was when he had wound his right arm 
protectingly around him, that he recognized him. A 
cry escaped him. Lee opened his heavy eyes. The 
recognition was mutual. 

Father McManus, heart-sick, managed to get him 
back into the trench; and there the unfortunate priv- 
ate lived long enough to make his Confession. 

“Have you any message to send back home to — 
her?” asked the priest huskily. 

“Whom ?” murmured the dying soldier. 

“Your mother, Eddie.” 

“It’s not of — her — I’m thinking. Somehow I can’t. 
It’s of my Father — my heavenly Father — I’m think- 
ing. I ought to have been about His business a long 
time ago. I could have served Him — and my Country 
too — like you. Barney, I ought to have been a priest 
like you ! But she wouldn’t let me. And now I have 
to die, without my work in life all done — and I’m 
afraid, Barney, I’m afraid. And my heart is — and 
can’t help — accusing her. I haven’t any message for 
her. If I sent one — it — it would be a cruel one. God 
help me!” 

And that night, as Father McManus knelt beside the 
lifeless form of his boyhood friend, he raised his eyes 
to the stars that flowered in all their ancient loveli- 
ness high over the field of blood. His heart beat 
quickly as he fervently thanked God that his mother 
was Eileen McManus, now departed, indeed, but still 
spiritually at his side, praying for him in his perils, 
emboldening him to serve God and Country splen- 
didly — a staunch Irishwoman who, Mary-like, had al- 
lowed, and inspired, and urged her son to be about 
his Father’s business! 

















































































































































































































































































































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